The Boy with the Bread
by FazzyGrl.22
Summary: She gave him different names: the Dandelion, the Boy with the Bread, Friend, Ally, Foe, Lover. This is his story; Peeta's own POV of The Hunger Games.
1. Chapter 1

I didn't want to write this.

There is already a finely narrated account of the last Hunger Games and how the Capitol was overthrown, but Doctor Aurelius suggested the same thing to me that he suggested to Katniss: writing down every experience from my own point of view. It would help vent any pent up emotions and relive memories that I was suppressing, he said. I suppose that may be true. It was extremely hard, however. Wasn't painting enough? I argued. But she urged me to do this as well. She wanted to know my side, to understand my struggles and fears.

So here we are. Katniss's account of the 74th and the 75th Hunger Games should be enough, but if anyone is so inclined, this will be my own point of view. I do not promise anything of importance or depth, but I will describe everything as best as I can. I've been told I'm good with words, but writing them down is far different than speaking them. I only hope I can do justice to all the hardships and struggles the two of us went through.

* * *

 **Part 1: The Tribute**

There is no chance of the bakery being busy this morning. I can tell by how quiet the house is when I wake up. Usually, my family and I are all up at the crack of dawn preparing for school and firing up the ovens for the day's quota of bread and other delicacies. Today, however, a hush is over the whole house and the bakery connected to it. Even my mother, whose raucous voice could wake the dead, is abnormally quiet. When I glance out of the window, I also notice that even though it's mid-morning, there are no kids from the town making their way to the schoolhouse. Even school is not in session. As I peer out of the window, I realize that all of this stillness could only mean one thing:

Today is Reaping Day.

I lie back down, staring up at the ceiling, hoping and almost praying that I'm wrong. Maybe it isn't Reaping Day. Maybe we just have a day off from classes, or the bakery is on a holiday. Of course, those are both outrageous ideas. School is always in session, with little to no breaks, and my parents would never take a day off from work, not if they want to eat. No, today is definitely the dreaded day of the reaping, whether I want it to be or not. As if to justify my suspicions, in bursts Cain, my older brother. He's not wearing a shirt and has a towel draped over his head.

"Still asleep? Lie around any longer, and you won't have time to clean up for the Big Day!" He exclaims in a singsong kind of voice, leaning against the doorframe.

I grumble something in reply and sit up slowly, not used to sleeping in this late, and still quite groggy. I can hear Cain chuckling.

"Come on, slow coach! There won't be much hot water left for your bath!" I watch as he sits down on the bed next to mine, drying his hair with the towel, having finished bathing himself.

Today is Reaping Day... Today is Reaping Day... The thought keeps turning over and over in my head as I follow my brother's suggestion and head to the bathroom. I let out a yawn as I turn the bath water on and test it. Fortunately, the hot water hasn't run out just yet.

Reaping Day. That means big screens, peacekeepers by the swarms, and the Hunger Games. I can't believe it's that time of year again. It feels like we are still recovering from last year's games; they come and go by so fast. I'm still trying to forget all the images the past year had bestowed upon us.

As I quickly wash myself, I can't help but wonder which two kids will be chosen to be this year's tributes for the games. It's the same sick cycle every year. To continue the established "peace" of all twelve districts under the ruling Capitol, President Coriolanus Snow hosts a grand, nationwide event called the Hunger Games. In these "games," one boy and one girl - ranging from years twelve to eighteen - from each district are "reaped" every year. They are then hoisted off to the Capitol to be put on display for the masses before being thrown into an arena of sorts. There, they are filmed for all eyes to see as they fight against nature, and each other, to survive and ultimately win. The catch? There can be only one winner.

Reaping Day is so aptly labeled the worst day of the year in our district. It is the long dreaded day in which everyone waits to see which two kids from their district will have their names picked to be the District Twelve tributes. The selections are random, as far as I know. Some years back, the boy and the girl that were chosen were from town, even though they hadn't had their names entered in that many times. Some other year, the tributes were as young as twelve years old. It's a cruel game of chance that every kid has to participate in. No one can skip this day unless you're near death. Try to and you are imprisoned.

I quickly dry myself with a towel once I deem myself clean enough and return to my room to get dressed. Reaping Day also means wearing your best clothes since the entire event is broadcasted for every district to watch. Now wearing a dress shirt and slacks, I slip on my best loafers and figure breakfast is in order. I can only hope that there will still be food left and I can hear Cain making snide remarks about the day as I walk down the hall to the kitchen.

"Not your cheerful self today, eh mother? I wonder why? After all, it is the Big Day! As the estimable Effie Trinket says, 'Happy Hunger Games'!"

He puts on a high-pitched voice to match the same bizarre accent that the Capitol lady uses. Effie Trinket. What can be said about her? The escort of District Twelve's tributes, she arrives for each Reaping with the cameras and the troops, making a grand speech and then picking two random names out of hundreds. One boy and one girl. Then she flutters away with the two chosen and introduces them to the entire Capitol, teaching them how behave for when they are interviewed on television.

That is the twist in the Games that really make them cruel: the people of the Capitol see it all as merely something enjoyable to watch. They can bet on which tribute they think will win and they send their favorite ones gifts so they can win. Yes, they will watch real children die, but think it is all in good fun. After all, there is always a game with plenty of participants to root for, year after year, and no game is ever exactly the same. Each arena has been different over the years: sometimes it's a desert, other times it's an island surrounded by water. Whatever the case, the arena is always designed with the idea in mind that the children have to learn to survive to win, as long as the other kids don't kill them first.

Cain always mocks Effie Trinket due to her strange accent and her outlandish Capitol looks. He calls her the Capitol Clown. Truth be told, I inwardly think that it's bit harsh of him, but it's hard to reprimand him for mocking a lady like her, someone who so gleefully selects the tributes while being so blind to the cruelties of subjecting kids as young as twelve years old to the horrors of the Hunger Games.

" 'May the odds be _ever_ in your favor'!" He shoots my way as I enter the kitchen. Everyone is sitting round the table, except our mother, who is scrubbing some sort of pot in the sink. She looks the same as she always does, hair buried under a neckerchief of sorts, wearing a frumpy dress with an apron over it. My two brothers sit across from each other while my father is sitting on the end. It appears the bakery will not receive many customers today, as I suspected.

I ignore Cain's comments and his lopsided grin as I sit down by my father. Other than my brother, the room is silent - well, for a moment. We suddenly hear the _whack_ a wooden spoon makes when it comes in contact with a skull. That is my mother's doing. She's hit Cain, who hardly flinches while the rest of us don't bat an eyelash. We all are used to that wooden spoon by now, especially myself.

"Oh will you _shut up,_ Cain. No one finds it amusing," our mother grouses out. She makes a face as if she has eaten a whole pile of lemons. At least, that's what I think the face would look like, as I hardly know what a lemon tastes like. They mayor's daughter, Madge Undersee, told me what one tasted like once. She puckered her lips up in a similar fashion as my mother did just now to illustrate.

Cain makes a face too, as if he's distraught. "My dear mother, I would think you would show me and Peeta some slight amount of compassion, today of all days! We could be chosen just as easily as anyone else."

"Cain." My father speaks softly, but in a tone that holds a warning. While my father is quite a large man, fit from baking and hoisting big sacks of flour and other groceries, he is soft spoken and reserved. He doesn't talk much, but when he does, you listen. At this moment, though, Cain was not going to.

"Wouldn't it be the greatest irony if I was picked?" He continues. "It being my last year and all."

It would be ironic indeed, I can't help but think. Cain is eighteen, the oldest age qualified for selection. I just can't imagine it: being selected on your last year, just before you are free from it all. I take a deep breath and try not to think about that as I pour myself a small glass of milk.

"There's thousands of names. Some of the poor kids have theirs put in over twenty times or more. Odds are it won't be you."

My oldest brother Royal, ever the voice of reason, says this quietly as we pass around slices of crusty bread (stale as always, but we were used to it). He's not in a joking mood, but who would be on a day like this? Cain falls quiet with the look Roy gives him and just munches away on his bread, the crunching sounds filling the air.

It's in this brief silence that I take time to study my two brothers. While Roy has the calm and steadfast composure of our father, Cain possesses a lot of the cynicism as well as the sharp tongue of our mother. Then there's me, the youngest son. I suppose I embody a little bit of each of these attributes. I'm not as quiet or patient like my father, but I'm certainly not as cynical or harsh like my mother.

I only think about myself for a second, however. The Reaping is a bit more of an important issue at the moment.

"Roy is right," our father murmurs as I receive my slice of bread. There's no butter today, it seems. A bowl of oatmeal is then slid my way and I eat in silence. My mother is soon talking for the rest of us, anyway.

"All I know is that it's all very vexing that you children have to go through this every year. If one of you is ever chosen, that would mean one less set of hands to help mind the shop," she gripes as she tosses the wooden spoon into the sink. Father sighs but only continues eating his oatmeal.

"Aw, don't fret, Mom. If I'm chosen, you'll still have Roy and Peeta," says Cain, shrugging. Father looks like he wants to say something but keeps it to himself. As for Mother, she just huffs, definitely not satisfied by Cain's remark. I glance over at her, but not once does she look at me. I might as well be invisible.

I begin to wonder, does it bother her that I, too, could be a potential tribute in a couple of hours? I suppose it wouldn't be that big of a loss. It would be the most sensible outcome, if it were to come to that. Since I am the youngest, I can't pull my weight around in the bakery like my brothers. I still go to school, and can only work in the afternoons and on the weekends.

The truth of the matter is, I'm not as needed as much as my brothers; not to my mother, at least. I now no longer feel very hungry.

"You boys had better finish your breakfast," Father suggests. As I've lost my appetite, I merely stir the oatmeal around in the bowl. He notices and I catch the sad look in his eye, as well as concern. I don't want him to feel any sort of guilt or remorse, so I smile to reassure him that I'm fine.

My poor father. Ever since I was little, I've looked up to him. I used to think there was nothing he couldn't do or handle, what with his quiet strength and steadfastness of character. Now that I'm older, I know better. He has one major weakness: my mother. He could never stand up to her, even when she "scolded" us. I've never resented him for that, though. He has his own demons to fight. I've heard him being screamed at enough to know that, and even though I've never told him, I've noticed the black eyes and scratch marks over the years.

As I watch him, I wonder what must be going through his mind at the moment. He saw one son survive his share of reaping, but still has to endure the risk of seeing his other two be chosen. It's frightening to endure being potentially selected, but it must be a nightmare for the parents too. To see your own child, being shipped off to be killed or forced to murder other children for survival... It is heartbreaking to think about.

We finish our breakfast and mother orders us to clean up. I see her stalk off to the sitting room.

"Here you go, big guy." Cain shoves a plate full of scraps into my hands. "Feed the pig."

There's no point in arguing, so I just make my way to the back door and outside to the pig pen. Once the plate is empty and the pig is happily munching away, I return to help finish cleaning. As I scrub my share of mismatching plates and cups, I notice my father is skinning something. A squirrel.

They are obviously fresh, and fresh squirrel means Gale Hawthorne stopped by earlier. And Gale Hawthorne stopping by meant that he was with- I shake my head and return to the scrubbing. Even thinking of her won't help my mood right now.

Mother disapproves of trading and buying game from someone like Gale (she says it hurts the family pride), but she's not around at the moment. Father works swiftly, removing the skin from the animal and then deboning it. He knows he has to work fast before she comes in and questions the origin of the squirrels.

He soon notices me watching him and a smile forms underneath his mustache. "Don't tell Mother," he whispers.

I smile and nod. "My lips are sealed."

Father, unlike her, has no qualms about this sort of thing. The meat supplied by Gale is some of the freshest we ever eat. Plus, he is from the Seam, the poorest part of the District, where the coal miners work and the children are half-starved.

It is easy to differentiate someone from the Seam from someone from Town. Their clothes are a little shabbier, their faces a little dirtier, their bodies thinner and their eyes hungrier. Several Seam children don't go to school. Things are so bad, that many who have bigger families even enter their names in for the games extra times just to receive items called tesserae. It's a kind of currency around the Seam, so I've been told, and it's used to buy food and other necessities. As a result, many kids from the Seam have entered their names in twenty times or more. With all this in mind, Father sees no issue in trading with several of them instead of charging them. Many times, I've heard him say he wished he could do more.

We are not wealthy, far from it, but we are undoubtedly better off than most families from the Seam. Helping them doesn't benefit us either, and it is usually frowned upon, but it is the right thing to do, as my father always says. He calls it the Golden Rule, and he lives by its principles. I daresay, I, too try to do so.

"Squirrel stew is always delicious," I comment, entirely in earnest. Father makes it with just the right amount of seasoning in the broth, with the meat at its most tender. Mix that with crisp vegetables and you have one fine stew.

He hums in agreement, and as he is finished with the preparations, covers the meat and stores it in the ice box for later use. It will make a good supper. I only hope I will still be around to taste it.

Now that we have everything cleaned up, we put some aprons on and help father around the bakery. Even though we all know it won't be very busy today, that doesn't mean people won't drop by. Plus, the reaping doesn't begin till after lunch time, giving us ample time to work and worry. By the time we do break to have a small lunch of sandwiches, we've gotten several rolls and biscuits ready for any customer needing bread for today's meals.

Time passes faster than any normal day working at the bakery, I feel, and soon we have to finish preparing for the Reaping. After washing our faces and dusting off the flour that somehow seems to get everywhere, Mother suggests we use some of Roy's precious hair gel for our hair as, she says, he doesn't need to worry about looking as presentable - unlike the two of us. Cain takes a large glob of it (just for the heck of it, I think), and slicks it through his hair until it is completely smoothed away from his forehead. As for myself, I only use a little bit of it. I really don't care about my hair. It's a bit curly and hard to manage anyways, so I just work it in there until the gunk is fully off of my hands.

Cain chuckles and shrugs. "Good enough, man." He's patting my back as we prepare to leave the house. But we're not finished yet. Mother eyes us up and down, tucking Cain's shirt in further and critically eyeing my hair. She then shrugs, herself.

"You will have to do."

We take that as leave to go and exit the house via the back door. The reaping will be held in the Town Square, so that's where we head. As I look around, seeing people emerge from houses, or walk up from the Seam, I can't help but think of all the times over the years that I ran around this place with friends. We'd play ball on the street or peer into the various shops, wishing we could receive even the smallest amount of spending money to buy one piece of candy. I have always loved the refreshing taste of peppermint and can remember longingly looking at the bright sticks of red, white and green sitting in crystal glasses, ready to be bought.

What am I thinking, I scold myself. I am acting like I will never see this square again. I could very well be overlooked as I have been for the past four years. There's no knowing whether luck will be on my side again or not, and that's the worst part of it. You never know if or when your luck will run out.

Slowly but surely, every young person from District Twelve arrives at the Town Square. I look around at the sea of faces, and everywhere it is the same: everyone is either stoic or scared, or about to be. Some are also tearful. Younger kids are clutching the hands of their older siblings as if for dear life, which is not too far from the truth. I can remember being the same way when I was twelve, gripping Roy's hand for support.

My heart aches for the younger ones. They look so small and terrified, especially the ones from the Seam. They are thin, weak, starving. I only pray that one of them will not be chosen. They wouldn't last one day in the Games.

As we near the center of Town Square, it is more apparent where the reaping will take place. There are Peacekeepers everywhere, taking names, drawing blood, and organizing the kids into two groups: boys and girls, from youngest to oldest. I see the huge screens set up, towering above us into the sky. They will broadcast the whole thing from the Mayor's introduction, to his speech, and then to the selections, for all of Panem to see. A podium and microphone are set up on the steps of the building, as are chairs where the Mayor and other officials will sit.

On the edges of the crowd of children are the families and adults, subjected to watch and wait - to see which two children will be reaped. As I stand there with the other sixteen year old boys in our designated spot, I eye the rest of the crowd. Everyone is quiet, everyone is grim. Just when I catch sight of Cain standing with the older boys, my attention is suddenly directed back to the steps of the justice building at the sound of fingers tapping on the microphone. The ceremony has begun.

Mayor Undersee introduces this year's reaping, giving the usual speech about the history of our country Panem. He talks about how we once were a unified nation, which as I recall, ended with an apocalyptic event that almost annihilated civilization. He describes how the surviving thirteen sects banded together to rebuild, each branching off to take charge of different industries under the watchful eye of the Capitol. These sects would come to be called Districts and each district still exports its individual industries to this day. Four disperses marine life for food, Seven disperses lumber, Eleven disperses produce, our Twelve disperses coal, and so on. This peaceful time of growth and unity ended with a war (also known as the Dark Days), which was mostly between the now-extinct District Thirteen and the Capitol. Needless to say, the Capitol won. He then goes on about how the Hunger Games were set up and why they occur every year. It's his routine speech. I could quote it and say it myself in front of the whole crowd if I wanted to, I know it that well.

After that, the mayor speaks about our District's tributes. We have only had two, and one of them has passed away. That leaves Haymitch Abernathy, a man who at this moment, has still yet to show up. None of us are surprised at this, though. Haymitch is never taken seriously. He shows up at every reaping drunk out of his mind, and falling asleep once he sits down after being introduced. I can safely say that he is also drunk every other day of the year too, not just at the reaping. I can't blame him for being an alcoholic, though. Who knows what horrors he saw during his Games? Being a victor either made you or broke you. Haymitch just unfortunately happened to be broken.

He finally appears, stumbling up the steps and we are all awkwardly silent as he makes quite a spectacle of himself. Stepping up to the mike, he shoves the mayor away and garbles something we can't quite make out. Afterwards, he tumbles into a chair, right next to the elegant Capitol Lady, herself. Things just get even more awkward as he tries to hug her, knocking what seems to be a wig on her head askew, while we all clap. I can hear a slight amount of chuckling that's unsuccessfully trying to be muffled, and I am certain that it's coming from Cain. He always did like watching Haymitch make a fool of himself during the previous reapings.

Not long after this, Effie stands up (quite relieved, too) to make her own tittering speech. I can just picture Cain's smirk, but I don't look back to see. I'm too distracted by the contrasting colors the woman is bestowing upon us. She's wearing a bright green suit that is no natural green color I know, while wearing a bright pink wig. Compared to the understated colors everyone in the district is wearing, it's honestly almost blinding.

"Good afternoon!" She greets in her overtly-cheerful manner. I suppose she has recuperated from being harassed. One wouldn't have thought that anything had gone amiss, had her wig not still been tilted to the side.

She continues on in her high-pitched Capitol accent. "Happy Hunger Games, and may the odds be _ever_ in your favor!" I have to admit, Cain can do a darn good job impersonating her.

As Effie continues her speech, going on about how excited she is to be here with us, I stop paying attention to her. Instead, my eyes wander again. I spy my parents to the far left and behind: my mother looking bored, and my father stern, with his barreled arms folded tightly across his chest.

I only gaze at them for a short while, turning my sights to other kids my age. When I look at the girls, I spy Delly Cartwright. She looks nice, with her hair pulled away from her face by a ribbon and falling behind her in waves. Delly and I have known each other since we were toddlers, and I have always held a brotherly affection for her. Though kids have teased us about getting married when we're older, I can safely say that this will never happen. It would feel like I was marrying my sister, not to mention Delly has jokingly told me that I am not her type. All that aside, she was always fun to play with when we were kids. She is not a tomboy, per se, but would always enjoy a game of kickball when put up to it. What I like about her the most, though, is how positive she can be. Somehow, she will always find the silver lining amidst the clouds.

One time when I was little, after receiving an especially harsh scolding from my mother due to dropping fresh rolls on the ground, Delly came to see me. She sat down on the back steps of our house next to me, petticoats and all, and slipped a peppermint chew in my hand. She had bought it herself. We didn't talk and she didn't stare at the bruises or bloody nose. She just sat there with me and held my hand as we sucked on the peppermints. I never did forget that kindness and I made sure to treat her just as kindly after that.

When our eyes meet, she works up a small smile and I give her one in return. You won't be picked, I wish I could tell her. I can't, though, and I'm glad of it. I have no right to tell her something like that. She is in just as much danger as the rest of us.

Effie now seems to be finished with her speech and is ready to begin the selections.

"Ladies first!" She proclaims. Stepping over to the first crystal bowl, she reaches in and fishes around before choosing a slip of paper. Everyone and everything is silent, even the nature around us. If I had a pin to drop, I would be able to hear it hit the ground.

In the sparse amount of time it takes Effie to unfold the paper, I look back at the girls again, but this time I'm not looking for Delly. Just as I am about to find the face I wish to see above all others, I hear,

"Primrose Everdeen!"

And I swear, in that moment, the entire district stops breathing.

 **. . .**

I can remember the many times pale little Primrose would peer into our bakery windows, her pink button nose pressed up to the glass as she admired the cakes on display - cakes I had helped decorate. Those times were mostly when she would be waiting for her sister as she traded with people around town in secret with Gale Hawthorne. Father knew what they were doing of course, and there was an unspoken secret that he would keep his eye on Primrose when this happened.

It was on one of those afternoons that I decided to say hello to her. Her sister was running errands or trading and I could see Primrose's blonde head right by the bakery window. While my mother was preoccupied, I slipped out of the shop to talk to her. She was a tiny, scrawny thing with long braids and a handmade dress, most likely also a hand-me-down. As the youngest child, I could relate.

I smiled at her and said hello. She was too shy to say much, but did manage a hello in return. To combat her shyness, I gave her a sugar cookie, decorated with yellow frosting. It was from a batch that I baked myself, so it wasn't stealing in my mind. Besides, she just looked so lonely and frightened. I wanted to make her feel at least a little better.

"Don't worry," I told her as she nibbled on it. She probably thought the cookie was too pretty to eat, from the way she was looking at it. "I'm sure your sister will be back soon."

Primrose nodded and looked up at me. "Thank you..."

"No need to thank me. Just don't tell your sister." My voice sank to a whisper, as if we were sharing a confidential secret. I put my finger over my lips and playfully winked. She giggled ever so slightly and nodded in compliance.

That was how I met Primrose Everdeen, though after that encounter, we didn't really talk ever again. Even so, I would sometimes catch sight of her in town looking into the bakery window, and I would give her a smile. She always smiled back.

Everyone loves Primrose once they meet her. How can they not? She is a kind, tenderhearted girl, from what I've seen and heard. She's also compassionate with animals. Many call her the Flower of the Seam, which is very fitting. But as much as the rest of us may adore her, it is her older sister Katniss who loves her the most.

Katniss. I feel a tightness in my chest that gradually worsens as we all watch that tiny figure slowly walk towards the justice building, tucking in her shirt from behind. She looks like she's about to burst into tears, but holds it back for the moment. Two bright pink splotches dot her pale face.

What must Katniss be feeling right now? Primrose is the only family she has, apart from their mother and you would have to be blind to not see how much she means to Katniss. Everything Katniss does is for the well-being of that little girl. She sneaks out into the woods to hunt, and will illegally trade the game for necessities to keep their small family alive. I can't imagine how many times her own name is entered in for all the tesserae she most likely took. Now, to see the one person she promised to protect being sent to the slaughter like this without any say in the matter; it makes my heart ache for them both. And Primrose is only twelve years old... I clench my fists in despair and anger. It just isn't fair and it isn't right.

Suddenly the silence is destroyed by a sudden bout of chaos. I hear someone call out Primrose's name, see Peacekeepers struggling with someone wearing a light blue dress, and, most shocking of all, a plea to volunteer. It only takes me a second to recognize that voice.

"I volunteer!" Katniss cries. "I volunteer as tribute!"

Everyone is staring, dumbfounded, including me. Even Effie is speechless for a minute. Then the mayor and district leaders begin whispering among themselves. I suppose they are trying to remember whether volunteering for someone is legal or not. The decision is soon made, though, and Katniss is told to join Effie up on the steps in her sister's place.

Primrose begins to scream and reaches for her sister as the rest of us just dumbly watch the heartbreaking scene unfold before us. Katniss tries to comfort her, urging her to go back with the others before Gale steps up and carries her away, crying out her sister's name all the while. Effie is jabbering on about how exciting this all is and I'm just standing there gazing up at the brave girl in awe. I can't help but notice how lost she looks while she dumbly tells Effie her name.

There really is no one else like Katniss Everdeen. She is one of the strongest people I know, with how she provides for her family. I say that I know her loosely, for we've never actually spoken, though we've been in the same class. That doesn't stop me from admiring her, though. Many call her antisocial and cold, but with the life she's led, I can't help but wonder if she is a victim of circumstance. In a place like District Twelve, I think we all are in our own way.

Effie is congratulating her and is asking for a round of applause, but no one gives it. Instead, slowly, one by one, people begin to touch their mouths with their three forefingers and then raise them in a salute. I willingly do the same. It is a sign of respect and a sign of farewell. We can still hear Primrose weeping while Effie tries to take control of the situation - our salute is something she hasn't had to deal with yet, it seems. Haymitch isn't helping either. He's drunkenly congratulating Katniss as well as shouting to the television screens before falling off of the stage. They have to carry him away on a stretcher. I think Mayor Undersee is going to die of embarrassment.

Effie decides that now is a good time to select the boy tribute. This is it, I tell myself. We all watch as she goes over to the second crystal bowl, digging deep down again. I feel my heart begin to beat faster as she pulls a paper out. My stomach won't stop churning. My hands feel a little clammy.

You're just one among many, I remember Roy saying. Odds are, it won't be you.

I deeply wish Roy had directed that remark at me as well as at Cain back then, because right now, I don't feel so well.

Effie has opened the paper. She's reading the name that is written there.

"Peeta Mellark."

The boys are stepping away from me, giving me a clear path to the steps and platform beyond. I see pity on many faces directed at me. I wonder why for a millisecond, but then it hits me.

It is my name that has been chosen.


	2. Chapter 2

I honestly cannot say how I manage to make my way up to where Effie and Katniss are standing because as I walk, my mind is reeling. I hear a rushing sound in my ears and have to keep reminding myself that my name is indeed Peeta Mellark. How I wish it wasn't at the moment.

I have been reaped for the Games. I am going to be shipped off to the Capitol, miles away from home, to be put on display before being sent to my death. I am going to be expected to kill and I most likely will be killed in return, while thousands watch on a live broadcast. I try to tell myself that this is a dream, but I know that's a lie. This is all one hundred percent real, and I am terrified.

I step up to the platform soon enough and Effie is putting her arm around my shoulders, giving me a hearty congratulations. I can see her garish makeup and hair up close now. It's not helping the way my head is spinning.

"Well now! Are there any volunteers?" She asks the crowd.

I know there won't be. Volunteering for the Games is something that never happens here, at least, before today. I see Roy looking upset, and can tell he wants to do something, but holds back. My parents look angry and grim. Cain won't look at me, and I know he must feel guilty that he doesn't volunteer. I don't blame him, though. What Katniss did what unexpected and exceptional. It makes me admire her even more.

"All right, you two. Shake hands."

Mayor Undersee orders us to exchange a sporting handshake, like one would do before a wrestling match or a kickball game. But this is not just any kind of sport or game. These people now expect me and Katniss to kill others - and each other - to win. They're going to bet on each of us, and cheer us on to kill each other. This brutal fact makes my blood run cold. We slowly turn to face each other and I look into the face of the girl I've never had the courage to talk to, despite crushing on her, since I was five years old. Funny how it's now, when we have to see each other as a potential enemy, that the chance is basically forced upon me. Fate can be cruel, indeed.

She's looking through me, more than looking at me. What I mean is, her eyes meet mine, but she's not seeing me. It's like I am a window. We offer each other a hand to shake, and hers is limp and cold. I can tell just how bewildered and lost she feels, probably wondering just how it all came to this. I feel a similar way. I decide to squeeze her hand ever so slightly, just to let her know that this is really happening. I don't know if it will comfort her, or just bring her back to reality, but at least she is looking at me now.

The moment passes quickly and we drop our hands, turning away from each other to face the crowd again. I am able to catch a glimpse of her, though, to the side. She's standing stiffly and more alert. I take a deep breath and do the same, staring straight ahead to the faraway trees that I wish I could disappear into.

This is really happening and you had better just accept it, I tell myself. We are proclaimed as the two tributes of District Twelve for the 74th Hunger Games, and our hands are raised in faked triumph. I see my face as well as Katniss's on the big screen. They have caught everything on video.

I don't remember anyone applauding, just the sound of Panem's anthem booming in my ears.

Now that the reaping is finished, Peacekeepers guide us by the arm into the Justice Building, where we are told we get a few minutes to say our goodbyes to our loved ones. I am led into what appears to be a meeting room of sorts. Filling up most of the room is a long table surrounded by leather chairs, a fine layer of dust coating practically everything. File cabinets with metal handles colored red from rust are sitting against the walls. The windows are also dirty and I catch sight of a cobweb or two in the reflecting light. It has certainly been quite a while since this room saw any use.

I slowly lower myself into one of the chairs, brushing the dust off of its smooth arms. So this is it, I say to myself. You are now a tribute.

I must be strong for my family, is my second thought. Even as images of previous games begin to plague my thoughts, making my hands shake, I know I can't let them see me upset. There's no point. I could feel sorry for myself later.

The door opens just then and in rushes Delly Cartwright. I am admittedly surprised to see her and rise to my feet. As she pulls me into a hug, the Peacekeeper informs us that we have three minutes.

"I convinced them that I was your cousin so I could say goodbye with your family," she whispers as the door closes. I can't help but chuckle a little. It is true that she and I could pass as relatives, we both have the same fair skin and hair. The only difference is that while my eyes are blue, hers are hazel.

"I'm glad," I say earnestly as we separate. "If we couldn't, I would always regret it, since.." I stop. I was going to say that this moment may be the last time we will get to see each other, but I can't bring myself to say so.

This triggers something in my friend because tears begin to pool in her eyes and all she can do is nod. As she begins to cry I can feel my throat tightening up as well, but I do my best to control my emotions.

"Hey, what do you want to go and cry for?" I ask gently, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I'll be all right, you'll see."

She just laughs tearfully, because we both know that I'm just trying to comfort her; because we both know that I probably won't be all right. But I can't help but lie. I don't like seeing my friend cry.

"I know you will," she plays along, though she knows the truth just as much as I do. "You're strong, Peeta. Remember that."

I'm able to work up a smile at her encouragement. Something tells me that when all is said and done, Delly may be one of the few supporters that I'll have. I don't really consider myself much of a contender for the Games anyway, and I don't think I can move the crowd in the way Katniss had done earlier, but knowing that I'll have at least one person rooting for me here at home is comforting.

"Thanks, Delly," I answer quietly. I move my hand to stroke the top of her head. "You take care of yourself, okay? Tell Madge that I said goodbye."

She's starting to cry again and I pull her into a warm hug. This one doesn't last as long, though. She quickly steps away and pulls out a handkerchief to wipe her nose. Then, taking a deep breath, she actually begins to smile at me.

"You know, Peeta, before you're sent into the arena, you should see if you can talk to Katniss. Who knows? Maybe if she warms up to you, she won't want to kill you, just like you don't want to kill her."

I can't believe her. She's actually making me blush a little. How does she know that this is what I was thinking myself?

"Like we'll have time for that," I scoff. She just smirks and shakes her head.

"You never know. I've always told you that if you would just try to get to know her, she would like you. Madge thinks so too. Even if it's just to be friends, at least it would be one good thing to come out of all this..."

Her voice trails off and her smile fades. I sigh a little. Talk of getting to know Katniss and becoming friends is all well and good, but the fact remains that we still are tributes in the Games. One or both of us is still going to die. Still, I do appreciate the way Delly is continually trying to encourage me. She knows all too well how I feel about Katniss, and has always teased me for the fact that I've never tried to talk to her. Even when she and Madge tried to come up with ways to get us to meet, I would always somehow avoid it.

"We'll see what happens," I decide to say, mostly to placate her. "With how much time we'll be made to spend together in the Capitol, odds are we're bound to talk at least a little."

She nods. "And you might as well use it to your advantage.." She mutters. I'm coming up with a smart reply when the door opens again. It's time for Delly to leave. We quickly hug one more time before they take her away.

"Just show them all that they shouldn't underestimate you," she urges softly. "Try to win."

I smile a little and nod again. "Goodbye," I whisper.

They escort her out of the room and I resign myself to the fact that this was probably our last moment together.

My family shows up after that. The first one to approach me is Roy. He strides right up to me and pulls me in a tight embrace. I'm stunned at first, because Roy is not one to show his emotions readily, but it's not long before I'm hugging him back. My big brother. This could very well be the last time that I hold onto him for support.

"Don't do anything stupid," he mutters gruffly. I can't help but smile, knowing this is his way of telling me to take care of myself.

"I'll try not to," I joke a little, "but I make no promises."

I can see him smile faintly in return and he ruffles my hair, as he used to when we were younger. He then steps away. There's nothing more to be done or said.

Cain is next and he's hesitant to speak or even look at me. Everyone else stares at him, expecting him to do something, but he just stands there looking at the floor. After Roy nudges him, he tries to look up at me, but then quickly looks down again. Once or twice he opens his mouth to say something, but closes it again. I know he's ashamed that he didn't do or say more and this time, I'm the one who walks over and embraces him. I need him to know that there's nothing he should be ashamed of. I need him to know that I don't blame him. I need him to know that I love him.

The two of us haven't always gotten along, but then, what siblings have? There were times when we would fight or when he would tease me for how I liked to decorate the cakes, or when he would push me into the pig pen just because I was smaller than him. But despite all that, we're still brothers. We were there for each other on the bad days when mother got angry, or when she and father had one of their shouting competitions, and we still share that bond.

Slowly, his arms wrap around me and he pats my back a couple of times. We pull away after a couple of seconds and he gives me a nod, looking straight into my eyes. I smile and nod back. We've come to an understanding and now that we've said our goodbyes, both my brothers turn to leave.

My parents are the last ones I say goodbye to. There are tears in my father's eyes and it's almost more than I can bear. Even so, I try to put on a brave face as we look at one another. Then, he gently grasps me by the back of my neck and pulls me close to him, our foreheads meeting.

"You are my son," he whispers, his voice too strained to talk any louder. I try to take a deep breath and nod, to remain stoic like Roy or even like Katniss, but it's so hard. Instead, I wrap my arms around him, resting my head on his shoulder, feeling like a lost little boy again. My father is holding me just as tightly, his large hand resting on the back of my head.

"Will you manage the bakery all right without me?" I attempt to joke once the emotional moment has passed. A slight smile lifts the ends of his mustache.

"I'll do my best," he answers. We step away from each other and he offers me his hand to shake. I grasp it firmly, wishing I could tell him just how much he means to me as a father, but we both remain silent. There's no use for words in this situation.

I don't expect such a tender or emotional farewell from my mother, though. When she steps over to me, my back straightens and I keep my head high. She looks me over once and shakes her head.

"Well, at least the District might get another victor after all these years."

I don't realize what she means at first. Does she think I can win? That I will be able to kill and survive? I'm not even sure of that myself. Then I notice the cold look in her eyes and I finally understand. She is not referring to me. I almost feel like I've been punched in the gut and the wind has been knocked out of me.

My father's eyes widen in shock, unable to believe what he is hearing. "Mother."

"What?" She rounds on him. "It's true. Only ruthless, clever and resourceful people survive the games. And she is a survivor, that girl. What can _he_ do?" This is directed at me. "Bake? Decorate? He doesn't know a thing about survival. He'll be absolutely useless."

Before my father can utter a retort, the Peacekeepers return. Without another word, the two of them are ushered out of the room, leaving me alone to bear the full impact of my mother's words.

It's true. I don't know anything about keeping myself alive. I suppose if I have to defend myself, I can stand a chance for a little while; I had participated in a few wrestling tournaments in school. Still, that had only been for fun. If it came down to hand-to-hand combat, against a more skilled opponent, I don't think I would last long. Not only that, but can I really kill someone? Murder them in cold blood? I tell myself that if it comes to survival, I can, but I haven't been in such a situation before. It will be a whole different story in that arena.

No, I think, I don't stand a chance.

The realization of this, plus my own mother's doubt in me, along with the thoughts of dying finally begin to hit home. I feel like a heavy weight is pressing down on my back. My throat begins to tighten again and I know I'm going to cry. I have to sit down again, before I fall to the ground on my knees.

The Peacekeepers find me like this, head bowed with tears running down my cheeks. They approach me and I stay quiet as they tell me it's time to go. So I don't even get to bring any belongings from home, I realize, as I stand. This just makes me feel even more miserable and I scrub the tears away. It's still obvious that I've been crying, though, yet I don't care. Let them see me cry. Let everyone in Panem see me cry. Wondering what they'll think of me is the last concern on my mind.

I see Katniss approaching me through my fog of tears, looking anything but emotional. She's being led by Effie, who motions for me to join them. I don't catch sight of my family as we exit the justice building and are crammed into the back of a car. It might have been just as well. My mother's looks of disapproval over seeing me crying would not have done anything to lift my spirits.

The three of us are driven to the train station, which doesn't take long. Effie is jabbering on about herself, the Games, the two of us, but I'm not listening. I just bleakly watch the town and the people pass me by, my last glimpse of home.

Cameras once again capture our every movement and expression as soon as we reach the station. Our pictures are also taken when we walk up to the train. As we board, I can see our faces on the screens: myself looking desolate with eyes that are swollen and red from crying, while Katniss is just blankly surveying everything around her. One would almost think she was bored with the whole thing. I wonder if that is truly the case, or if she is just putting up a front so people won't think she is weak.

Then, the doors slide shut behind us, the train takes off with a jolt, and the cameras are finally gone. It's an overwhelming feeling of relief to know that you don't have to worry about tons of lenses capturing your every move any longer. I feel more at ease now as I study my surroundings.

The train's interior is quite impressive: big windows, lavishly cushioned furniture that is richly colored and inlaid with gold, table and chairs made of mahogany, with walls that even have some artwork hanging on them. It all looks so...wealthy, so much so that you start feeling afraid to touch anything, in case you accidentally break something. I glance at Katniss, who remains expressionless, but is most likely more overwhelmed than I am. My family wasn't that well-off, but we probably had more comforts than she did.

Effie startles us out of our stupor and we are shown to, as she calls it, our "private quarters." We are led from one car to another until we reach the sleeping car. Katniss's room is on the opposite side of the car from mine, so we part ways with her going right and me going left. I'm then shown my room and once again, I'm taken aback at the luxury of everything. It's a moderate size, with a soft bed, a chest of drawers that is full of clothes that look like they will fit me. There's even a bathroom with a toilet, sink and shower. I think it's a little excessive, but then I remember that the very definition of the Capitol is excess.

I'm told that dinner is in an hour so there is some time to waste before I'm expected to show up in the dining car. Taking a deep breath, I remove my shoes and plop down on the bed. Now comfortable, I lay back, just staring blankly up at the ceiling and listening to the sound of the train speeding along.

The last couple of hours are such a blur. I can only really recall the sinking feeling I felt when I woke up that morning. Had it even been the same morning? Yes, I tell myself, and it was me that was chosen in the reaping and I am on my way to the Capitol. So, what now?

"Okay," I mutter. "So, you're going to be in the Hunger Games with Katniss Everdeen. You've never spoken to her before. You should change that. Like Delly said, it might be a good thing, even if you're expected to kill her as well as the other tributes. Now, what can you do?"

I try to tally up what qualities I think I possess. I can bake, I like to draw, and I've been told I'm pretty good at public speaking. I am also almost decent at wrestling. Out of those four things, only two of them might do me some good, if any. I sigh.

"Great. Looks like I've got my work cut out for me."

By this time, I am basically done with feeling sorry for myself. I mean, I'd cried and everything. Now, I have to listen and to learn. I have to consult with our mentor so I can come up with ways to survive, and fight, if I have to. One thing at a time, though, I tell myself.

I decide to take a shower to freshen up. Even for families like mine that live in the town, showers can be quite a luxury, at least a shower like this one. I can adjust the nozzles on the shower head, controlling the pressure of the water. I can also decide how warm the water should be and, what's even more impressive, I don't have to worry about using all of the warm water up. It's quite nice.

I come out of the shower clean and washed of all depression and self-doubt. I am now resigned to my situation and decide that all I can do is make the most of it. All I can do, I reason, is wait and see what will happen. Once I am dry and dressed in new clothes taken from the drawers, I realize I have passed an hour in reflection, or nearly at least, and decide to make my way to the dining car as Effie ordered.

I leave my room and walk down the hall of the sleeping car. For a moment, I glance down the hall to the direction of where Katniss's room would be and wonder if I should go ask her if she wants to walk with me. In the end, I decide against this. For all I know, she could be sleeping, or she might just want to be left alone to deal with the present situation. After all, that was how I had felt an hour ago, so I head to the exit.

Crossing from car to car is a little difficult to do on my own. I have never been on a train before, never having left the District for any reason, so knowing how to meander on one that is actually moving is something to get accustomed to. I'm a little wobbly as I pass into the adjoining car, and I take a minute to get my bearings. I can remember Roy talking about the time when he was a little boy and Father took him to the train station when they went to pick up supplies. He had been able to look around the train and sit in a car, but even then, it hadn't been moving. This would have been a first, even for him.

Once I am certain that I won't stumble and fall, I continue along, hoping that I'm going the right way. I'm not actually sure which way the dining car is, so it is possible that I'm going the wrong way altogether. As I'm walking, I look around at the brightly painted walls and finely carved doors. There are even paintings hanging here and there which I can't help but stop to observe. They all are either representations of the Capitol, with its majestic buildings and courtyards, or of previous tributes. I can recognize some of them from playbacks of the previous Games and I start to wonder if my own face will soon become an addition to this collection. I no longer want to look at them now.

Just as those "pleasant" thoughts are running through my head, a peacekeeper appears. When he asks me if I'm looking for something, I tell him that I'm trying to find the dining car. He tells me that I'm going in the opposite direction and I thank him before turning around. I pass through the sleeping car again and come out into another car very similar to the previous one where I had seen the paintings. Suddenly, a door opens and who should appear but Haymitch. I realize as we observe one another that he had just exited a bathroom.

"Well well. Out for a bit of exploration?" He says. At least, that's what I think he says, because his voice is incredibly slurred. I spy an empty bottle of alcohol dangling in one of his hands and I begin to wonder if he even knows who I am.

"Just trying to find the dining car," I answer.

"Oh. Right. Dinner." He belches. I can't help but back away ever so slightly to avoid the stench.

"If Effie asks where I am, tell her I'm gonna take a nap." He leans forward and slaps my shoulder. "You can do that, can't you, Friendo?"

"Sure." Why not? Maybe it'll help him sober up a little, I reason.

"You're a trooper." He sways to the right and staggers down the hall. It's not long before he trips on a rug and I reach out to grab his arm.

"Do you want me to help you?" I ask, afraid that he's going to fall and hit his head or something. He just shrugs my arm off and tells me that he'll see me in Hell first. I take the hint and turn to head in the opposite direction of him.

When I finally reach the dining car, once again I'm struck by how elegant everything is for it being just a train. The walls are polished with detailed moldings that go all the way up to the ceiling. The table is of a rich polished wood, covered in a pure white tablecloth while the rest of the furniture is again lavishly cushioned. As the table is being set by several workers, I notice how fine the china looks. The only time I've seen such intricately patterned dishes was at Mayor Undersee's house, and even then, some of their plates and cups had been chipped. Not so here.

I don't want to get in the way of the dinner preparations, so I sit a little away from the table. The servers hardly notice me as they finish laying all the plates, glasses, napkins and silverware in their proper places. They then hustle out of the car, trying to finish up the dinner, I figure, and I am left alone. I decide to sit at the table now, doing my best not to touch anything, and look out the window as the world seemingly passes me by.

Then Effie appears with Katniss in tow, though Katniss is the one I notice first. She still has her dark hair braided back and she is now wearing dark pants with a shirt the color of pine needles. It's a good color on her, nicely contrasting with her darker complexion. I know I'm staring a little and I try to focus on the patterned plate that's before me. I can't help but think Katniss is attractive; I've always thought so. She's not like the girls in the town, with their long dresses and hair ribbons. She always seems to prefer pants and a loose fitting shirt with a leather jacket for hunting; it's what I always saw her wearing when she would appear in the town and it's this understated look with her usual dark braid down her back that appeals to me more than frills and lace. Why? Perhaps the reason is because she never tries to be something she's not. Katniss Everdeen is just a simple girl from the Seam who doesn't have time to worry about appearances. All she wants to do is keep her family alive and safe.

I don't know why I'm so focused on how Katniss's natural looks please me. Most likely it is due to the fact that this is the closest I have ever been to her. She sits across the table from me now, though she's not looking at me.

In school I was always around other kids, kids whose parents were friends with mine, or who were neighbors. Katniss was always alone, sitting by herself, when Madge Undersee wasn't talking to her. The only other person around our age who she talked to was Gale Hawthorne, but even he was two years older than us. He wasn't in our class.

I can't begin to explain how much I always regretted not having the guts to go up and speak to her. I really was a pathetic kid, always afraid she would snub me. But what would have happened if I did have guts? Would we have become friends? Even if we come from opposite parts of the District, that wouldn't have mattered to me. I like people for who they are, not for where they come from or how they grew up.

Then I remember our situation at the present and I begin to think, maybe it's just as well we didn't become friends. Things were going to become tense in the coming weeks, and it would have just been more awkward if we were already close. I know Katniss would feel this way, at least. As for myself, I don't know what to think. The only thing I can think is how much I don't want to be forced to kill her.


	3. Chapter 3

"Where's Haymitch?" Effie asks after we all get situated for the meal. She's still wearing that bright pink wig, but has changed her clothes like the two of us. I have never seen so many variations of pink on a person before. It's quite amazing, from light rouge to magenta and every shade in between. Even her face itself has a pink tinge to it, which might have been due to her makeup, or the bright wig reflecting off her skin. Whatever the reason, I can't help but wonder if this will be a pattern with her wearing a different color of the rainbow every day. It would be quite a sight to see.

I inform her of my running into our supposed mentor on my way to the dining car.

"He said he was going to take a nap," I say. Effie looks relieved at this and I can't blame her for it. Whatever nightmares Haymitch is battling, being around him is still a hassle to deal with.

Katniss and I remain quiet as the food is brought out in courses. It's something quite foreign to me since at home, the meal is all eaten at once. It starts off with a bright orange soup which tastes like carrots and has a sprig of herbs floating on top for decoration and added flavor. Next comes a salad along with juicy pork chops and whipped mashed potatoes with a creamy gravy. I will say that the pork chops do taste good with the gravy drizzled over them, and the meat itself is quite tender. I'm still wolfing down the food when the desserts are brought out, which consists of various fresh fruits and a chocolate cake.

Chocolate cake. I had only tried chocolate once, when my dad was making batter for a cake the mayor ordered. He let me lick the mixing spoon as he put the cake in the oven, and after one lick, I couldn't get enough. We never had chocolate in the house, despite my father making chocolate cakes often. Chocolate was a luxury that we couldn't afford, so I was quite disappointed when the batter was gone and my father shooed me out of the kitchen. I thought I would never taste such a delicacy again, so I am quite excited to see that we are having it for dessert. It certainly looks amazing, with a fudge center and chocolate icing oozing down the sides. The cake itself looks light and airy.

Though I am already bursting at the seams with food, I have to at least try the cake. I take one bite and think it's delicious, but incredibly rich. After a second bite, it's too rich, which is quite a shame because had I not been stuffed already, I probably would have quite enjoyed it. After the other courses of rich food, however, this cake is almost too much. So, a bit regretfully, I put down my fork. Katniss, on the other hand, is still munching away. No surprise there, though. If I am blown away by our large meal, I'm sure she's just as stunned, if not more so. Combating against hunger is the main struggle for those from the Seam.

As the dinner wears on, Effie continues to titter away about and this and that. I try to be polite and listen to her but I can tell Katniss isn't paying attention at all. She's lost in her thoughts. That is, until Effie makes a remark about our eating habits.

"At least you two have manners," she quips. "The previous tributes from your district gorged themselves like savages, eating with their hands. It completely upset my digestion!" She wrinkles her nose in disgust and lifts her napkin up to her mouth, as if the sight was still right before her.

I stare at her, not sure what to say at first. The obvious reason for the actions of last year's tributes was that they had both been from the Seam. Whatever food they had eaten here, at this very table in this very dining car, it was probably more food than they had ever seen. Of course they'd be gobbling it up. I am trying to come up with the politest way to explain this to Effie when I see a gleam of resentment in Katniss's grey eyes. She is definitely thinking the same as me. For all I know, she could have known those two kids from last year, even. There is no doubt in my mind that she at least knows how hard their lives had been.

I inwardly want to chide Effie for her stupidity. But then, I reason with myself, how is she to know about anything? She doesn't see what life is like in District Twelve on a daily basis. She never has tried to find out, either, though. I am trying to sort out whether I think Effie is just naive, or if she is a part of the problem with the whole government of Panem, when I notice Katniss doing something hysterical. She sets her fork down firmly on the table and then proceeds to finish eating her meal with her hands. She even wipes them on the tablecloth when she's finished, looking triumphant while Effie looks horrified. It takes everything in my willpower not to burst out laughing and I decide to sip on my water to mask my chuckles. I choke a little when she makes an effort to audibly lick her fingers clean of the gravy, but am able to easily attribute it to coughing, not laughing. I don't think either of them notice.

Now that the meal is over, I realize I'm not feeling too well. It was a smart move on my part not to try and finish that cake. Katniss is also looking a little queasy as we're led into a different car, which has chairs and sofas facing a large screen. I try my hardest not to collapse and fall asleep on a couch in front of me and we're made to sit there and watch all the different reapings from each district so we can see who our competitors will be. Some of the kids look strong and healthy, but many of the others, not so much. Several of them have striking features, such as the girl from District One, or the boy from District Two, and especially the girl from District Five. Such bright red hair. One doesn't often see such a color in District Twelve. I'm also sad to see that the girl from District Eleven is only twelve years old, like Primrose.

Our district's reaping is last, and we get to relive the emotional volunteering of Katniss for her sister and the awkward silence when no one volunteers for me. It is at this moment when Haymitch appears and my hopes that a nap would sober him up are dashed. Just seconds after appearing, he's vomiting all over himself and onto the floor. Effie had scolded us when it seemed like we weren't taking his bad habit seriously, since he is supposed to be our mentor who will teach us survival and how to receive sponsors for the Games. Now that I see him falling over his own mess, I see what she means. If this is what is supposed to keep us alive, then we're both in serious trouble.

Effie has left, leaving us alone with him lying flat on his face. We stare at him for a minute, his hair getting tangled in his vomit. I can smell the odor from here. I know I should be repulsed, but I only feel pity. This is what the Games do to you. You murder complete strangers around your own age; you even murder people you know. Then afterwards you either die or come out the victor, forever changed into a tool for the Capitol or a mere shell of the person you were before, haunted by the things you have seen and done. Such was the fate of Haymitch. God only knows what horrors attack the man when he's not in a drunken stupor. It's no wonder he always drinks.

I look at Katniss and she looks at me. Really looks at me, instead of through me this time. Then together, we walk over to the fallen man and help him up. He mumbles and winces at his own stench. I feel so sorry for him, and I don't want him to fall asleep in this state, so I say,

"Come on. Let's take you to your room. Clean you up a bit."

Katniss wordlessly follows my lead and we hold him up, trying to help him walk. The smell is almost overwhelming but we make it to his room finally. Once we reach his bathroom, I assure her that I can handle the rest on my own.

"I can call the Peacekeepers to help you," she offers. I merely shake my head.

"No, I don't want them," I reply. I can do this myself.

For a moment, she just looks at me, though I don't know why. Then she turns and is gone, leaving me alone with a drunk Haymitch who is muttering and groaning to himself. It seems that he's nearly asleep, which means it's just going to make things even more difficult.

Lugging him to the shower does turn out to be no easy task. After trying to push him along, I decide to just pick him up. Though I'm hesitant to carry him, since his front is covered in vomit, I can think of no other way to move him. I can always change later, I reason. Taking a deep breath, I put him over my shoulder like one of those sacks of flour I always had to carry at the bakery. Once I've deposited him in the shower, I remove his shirt and soak it in the sink. He can do something about it later. I then turn the water on, making sure it is warm so as not to startle him and I have to work the vomit out of his hair and hose his torso down, which causes him to stir a little. Apart from that, though, he doesn't really react. Once this is finished, I tug him out of the shower to dry him off, and I notice scars here and there on his back. They serve as a brutal reminder that Haymitch was once in my very shoes. He was once a tribute traveling on this train, eating rich food, wearing fancy clothes for sponsors, before going to what he probably thought was his death. I wonder how many he killed, or if he had to kill the girl he traveled with...

I carry him back to his bed and make sure he is under the covers before leaving to go to my room. The light outside is fading into evening and it will soon be night. It's then that I realize I'll be spending a night on the train. I'm so used to sharing a room with two brothers, that the thought of sleeping in utter isolation is alien to me. I wonder if Roy and Cain are thinking about me at this moment, with my empty bed next to theirs. I then wonder if my bed is still even there.

Now changed into pajamas and lying in bed, I stare up at the ceiling again. I think of drunken Haymitch, twitching and muttering; of Effie with her bubbly personality and her gaudy looks. Most of all, I think of Katniss. I relive that very afternoon, seeing her volunteer, barely looking at me as we shake hands, how lost she seemed until I squeezed her hand in mine...

Then I remember, I've seen that lost look before, five years ago.

I remember it was raining hard that afternoon. No, it was more of a downpour. The streets of the town were almost flooding and no one was daring to leave their homes. Inside my house, it was dry and warm, with the scent of baking bread making our mouths water and making us hope that we could at least get a small portion to eat for supper instead of the crusty heels we usually ate.

It was my turn to watch the baking loaves while Father manned the shop. There weren't many customers, though, which made our mother irate. I can so vividly remember how she was that afternoon, in one of her tempers. No matter what we did, we were doing it wrong. If we did something she thought annoying or stupid, out came that wooden spoon. Cain had already received a blow to the head for making too much noise while he was supposed to be minding the laundry.

As mother stalked around, making me anxious with how I was forming the dough and loading it up into the ovens with the huge wooden peel (that was still a little too big for me), we both heard some commotion outside. It sounded like the noise a raccoon usually makes when it's trying to snatch some food from the trash. Mother, already irritated, marched right up to the door and yanked it open, ready to throw something. I couldn't help but follow her to see if it really was a raccoon. I had only seen one once. Only, it wasn't a raccoon. It was Katniss.

I recognized her immediately from school. I also noticed how starved she looked, her drenched clothes hanging off of her bony body. It was initially frightening to see how thin her cheeks were, that the bones were apparent, and how empty her eyes looked as they stared up pleadingly at us. I could recall hearing my father mention how Mr. Everdeen, a miner, had been one of the poor souls to have perished in the recent mining accident. Everdeen. That was Katniss's last name, I thought, and I knew that this death was the reason why Katniss was pawing through our garbage.

My mother, ever the compassionate one, began screaming at Katniss.

"Get your filthy paws out of there and move on, you tramp! Do you want me to call the Peacekeepers and have them hang you?" She took a step towards her and Katniss quickly put the lid back on the trashcan. This wasn't enough for Mother, though, and she kicked up some mud to launch at the soaked girl.

"Go on, get! I am so sick of you dirty brats from the Seam always pawing at my trash! Come around again, and you'll get more where that came from!" She shouted as Katniss ran off. After that, seemingly satisfied that she got to shout at someone new, she stomped back into the house. As for myself, I lingered in the doorway, watching as the forlorn girl staggered past the pig pen to lean against the nearby tree.

She looked so weak, so tired. I saw her slip to the floor and just lie there, not caring that the rain continued to pour over her. I remember clutching the apron that was tied around me as I watched her, and deciding that I couldn't just let her lie there in the rain and starve to death. I had to help her. So, going back inside, I went to the ovens where I was supposed to be watching the loaves, and opened the door. With a jostle of the peel, I made two of the loaves tip into the fire, burning the ends. Mother just so happened to see me drop them and I heard her shout. She yanked me away from the oven and quickly pulled the bread out of the fire before they were completely burnt. They lay there on the floor, burnt, useless, unfit to eat.

All I can remember next is hearing mother screaming, her face twisted with rage, and the sharp pain of the wooden spoon hitting me on the side of my face. It was a large spoon. Then the loaves were shoved into my arms, still hot from the fire and scalding my hands, and I was pushed out the door.

"Feed it to the pig, you stupid creature! Why not? No one decent would buy burnt bread!" She shouted at me, and then the door slammed shut. I was left outside in the rain with two burnt, but still edible loaves.

My eyes remained on the pig pen as I waded through the puddles, but I could see Katniss watching me out of the corner of my eye. She was still lying at the base of the tree, just a couple of yards away from the pig pen. I prepared to toss the loaves away, but not before looking back so I knew Mother wasn't watching me from the window or something. There was no sight of her, so still not looking at Katniss, I threw the loaves towards the tree instead of the pig pen. There was no time for me to see if she would grab them, though, since Mother would soon be yelling at me to come back into the house before she gave me another beating.

I went back inside, my cheek still stinging from the blow. It began to swell later on, too, but it didn't matter to me. I knew I had done a good thing. I had followed the Golden Rule Father always tried to live by. I had helped someone in need, and it just so happened to be the girl I liked. I earnestly hoped she would be able to take the loaves home and share them with her family. I hoped she would no longer be hungry.

The next day, I went to school and Katniss was there. She still looked thin and a little weak, but it was a far cry from the starving, hopeless creature that had been searching for trash to eat last night. The whole day I wanted to talk to her and ask if she was all right, but I couldn't find the right time to. It didn't help that most everyone asked about my swollen cheek and my black eye. I just chalked it up to a fight I had with Cain, which everyone believed.

I can remember our eyes meeting once, as Katniss left for home. I was watching her, hoping that she still had bread left over to eat until she could come up with something more, when her eyes darted over to me. Realizing I had been caught staring, I quickly looked away. Now that I think back, I wish I hadn't.

I feel myself dropping off to sleep as those memories come back to me, and as I fight to stay awake a little longer, I do realize that once again, Katniss and I are thrown into a similar situation. We potentially hold our lives in each other's hands, with the ability to take them away, if we so wish. In the arena, there could come a time where once again, I'll see Katniss lying before me, and the decision to either help her or kill her will be up to me, just as it was with the bread. And then, a decision comes to me, one that I know will either change my life or potentially end it, or both.

I am not going to kill Katniss in these Games. I cannot and I will not. No amount of fancy food, fame or threats from the Capitol will change my mind. I will not play a part in their game in this aspect.

They can kill me first, I resolve adamantly before I fall asleep.


	4. Chapter 4

My resolve to keep Katniss alive does not vanish when I wake up the next morning. In fact, the decision has become stronger. I don't really care about what happens to me, but I know how much Katniss's family depends on her. I can't be the one to return home the victor, having to face them with her death. If Katniss were to die in the Games, I would of course do everything in my power to help and support her sister and mother, but I'm not about to let that happen. I may not know her very well, and I have not spoken to her much, but I respect her. I admire her. I like her. And I don't want to see her die.

I begin to wonder if I should tell her my plan. How would she react to it? I ponder this as I get dressed for the day and brush my teeth. No, I decide. I probably shouldn't tell her. I have a sneaking suspicion that she won't like it. But then again, it might make us allies if she did know that I'm not out to kill her, so perhaps I should. These thoughts go back and forth in my head as I leave my room to go eat breakfast.

Maybe I'll confide in Haymitch about this, I think. After all, he is supposed to be our mentor.

And speak of the devil, he's there in the dining car. He looks a little more sober today, though his face is puffy and red from how much he drank the previous night. When he sees me, he raises his glass full of some sort of red juice.

"Well, if it isn't the boy tribute! Sit down! Sit down, that's what chairs are for!" He exclaims.

I just nod and follow his suggestion, pulling my chair up to the table that is set and ready for breakfast. "How are you this morning..?" I dare to ask. I wonder if he has any memory of my helping him last night.

"Oh I'm fantastic," he drawls, "better than last night. It was nice having my own personal nursemaid, though. I should hire you to take care of me every time I pass out drunk," He says, obviously remembering everything. I'm not sure if he's mocking me or not and I try to ignore his comments. It's then that I notice that Effie has appeared, looking her usual, vivid self.

"Come to think of it, I would have enjoyed your company last night even more, dear Miss Trinket," he says in that same drawling tone.

She blinks, unsure of what he's talking about. He continues to chuckle, and she huffs, exasperated. I keep my eyes on the plate, only looking up to see what the breakfast is when the servers appear and set it on the table. I grab a roll that is shaped like a crescent moon, recognizing it as a type of breakfast roll that my father bakes.

"Whatever it is you are talking about, I don't think I want to know," Effie says loftily.

"Oh, come now, Effie. You know you like me," he says as he broadly grins. I do my best to avoid looking at either of them as a mug full of a creamy brown liquid is handed to me. It looks like coffee and it's warm as well, but when I ask what it is, the server tells me it's called hot chocolate.

"I think I like you better drunk," she mutters before stalking off to a side table where she pours herself a mug of coffee.

As I begin to serve myself a little bit of eggs and fruit, Katniss appears. Already embarrassed, and with Haymitch still chuckling and Effie muttering to herself, I decide to keep my eyes down. The hot chocolate tastes good anyways and I sip it slowly. It is sweet and creamy, just the right amount, unlike the intensely rich cake from last night. Katniss is also served some and I notice her eyeing it warily.

"It's called hot chocolate," I tell her. "It's good."

She must agree with me because before she eats any amount of food, she gulps the beverage down. I can't help but smile a little, though I turn my attention to my breakfast, starting to think of home. My first thought is of my younger self watching my father eating his breakfast. He would dip his bread into his mug of coffee that he drank every morning, probably to soften the stale bread as best as he could. I had always asked if I could try it for myself, but he would just smile and tell me I wouldn't like it. It turns out, he was right. I have always preferred tea.

I think of him as I imitate his eating habits, dipping my bread into the hot chocolate. It turns out to be quite delicious and for the next minute or so, while everyone eats in silence, I continue to indulge myself. Katniss is eating heartily, while Effie is nibbling on some fruit between sips of coffee. Haymitch doesn't eat at all, instead pouring what looks to be liquor into his juice. It's disappointing to say the least. I had hoped that he would be at least a little sober when I ask him for advice, not only about my decision for the games, but about surviving the games in general. Besides that, he is supposed to be the person who will influence the wealthy citizens of the Capitol to sponsor us so we receive gifts that will help us survive in the arena. Once again, I realize just how dire our situation is with someone like Haymitch.

Then Katniss suddenly speaks up. "So, you're supposed to give us advice." She abruptly states.

"Here's some advice. Stay alive."

That's it. That's all he says. I can hardly believe what I am hearing. How can he be so flippant about this? He's even laughing, as if he has said something witty. This is the person I am supposed to confide in and entrust not only my life but Katniss's life to? Forget even asking him for advice about trying to keep Katniss alive! He would most likely laugh at the very notion of my trying to do so. I had felt sorry for him last night, he looked so pitiful, drunkenly slipping around in his own vomit. But now, with him making smart remarks while our lives hang in the balance and _laughing_ about it, I'm beginning to get irritated.

I see Katniss turning to look at me, seemingly at a loss for words. The more I look at the man, the more frustrated I become. I don't like to use violence, but I can feel my patience wearing thin as Haymitch sits there with a smirk on his face, swirling the drink around in his hand.

"That's very funny," I mutter tightly. In one quick motion, I rise up from my chair and smack the glass out of his hand. It shatters on the floor as I glower at him. "Only not to us," I finish, hoping he takes the hint. The drinking has to stop. I need his help too much.

Haymitch seems to be mildly surprised at my lashing out at him. Not too surprised, though, nor too drunk it seems, because before I know it, he moves just as fast as me. I don't react quickly enough to see his fist before it deals a blow squarely at my jaw. The impact throws me back and I suddenly find myself sprawled out on the floor of the train. I think I can hear something hitting the table and I vaguely wonder if he's lashing out at Katniss too. My head still feels jumbled and I shake it a couple of times until the room stops spinning.

"It seems I have a pair of fighters this year," Haymitch coolly remarks and I slowly rise up to my feet again. My jaw aches and I try to work it out as gently as possible to gauge if it's broken or not. It doesn't seem so, but I know it will swell if I don't pack ice on it, so I scoop some up from the fruit tureen. To my surprise, Haymitch stops me. He wants it to look like I've had a scrap with another tribute even before the games have begun. It's manipulative and I'm pretty sure it's against the rules, but I'm beginning to wonder if that was his motive all along. Suddenly, I feel like I've passed some test, that Haymitch now deems me worthy to help, and has given me a slight edge in how the sponsors will see me. He says that even if it is against the rules, seemingly fighting with another tribute and not getting caught at it is something worth noticing.

"You." He turns to Katniss. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"

She hesitates for a minute. Then we watch as she picks the knife up again, grasps it by the blade and whips it through the air into a door. Not just at the door, but into it, so that it stays embedded in the wood. Now that is what I call impressive. Katniss may be lean, and she is shorter than both me and Haymitch, but she certainly is not to be underestimated.

After this bold display, Haymitch seems to sober up completely in a matter of seconds and orders us to stand next to each other. I feel like a horse being surveyed before purchase as he orders me to lift up my arms before he grasps them, feeling the biceps. He also pokes and prods around my chest, abdomen and back. I'm beginning to wonder if he'll ask to see my teeth next. He does some of the same with Katniss, but acts a bit more restrained with her. Then he grasps us by the chin and studies our faces. After what seems like ages of analysis from him, he steps back and shrugs.

"Well you two aren't entirely hopeless, I guess. You seem fit. Once your stylists get through with you, I suppose you'll be attractive enough."

Oh right. We are getting stylists to make us more appealing for the spectators. I had nearly forgotten about the first half of the games - the showcasing of the tributes. Before we can even be thrown into combat, we have to appear before the Capitol masses, looking desirable. We will be broadcasted on a live talk show where we will show everyone our personalities and qualities. This is a critical point in the games, the disturbing "entertainment" side of them. We can't just train hard, or study survival skills, we have to make the people like us or at least remember us so they will assist us in the arena. It just shows how detached from reality - how heartless - the Capitol is. All they want is a show.

I take a deep breath. Before I can even think of ways to keep Katniss alive, I have to think about how I can make myself likable to these people who will watch me die. It's the only way I'll get a fighting chance.

"I'll make you two a deal," Haymitch decides. "You don't interfere with this," he holds up the bottle of spirits, "and I'll stay sober enough to help you. But you have to do exactly what I say." His eyes seem to be mostly focused on Katniss.

"Fine," I reply. At least it's something.

It seems we won't be getting advice right away, though, for it turns out we will be arriving at the Grand Station shortly. We have to wait to begin strategizing later, Haymitch tells us. We need to meet our stylists first.

The man leaves, taking the booze with him and leaving the two of us alone in the dining car. Effie has seemingly vanished as well. Suddenly, everything goes dark. I assume we're passing through a tunnel of sorts and watch the windows, waiting for light. It appears soon enough and it's temporarily blinding.

The full realization that we've reached the Capitol is just now dawning on us and we both rush up to the window for a first glimpse of the city. The sight is quite honestly incredible: buildings of pure white are gleaming in the sunlight, stretching up so high that I cannot see the tops from my position in the train. Fancy looking cars are zooming by on roads next to us, all brilliantly colored in various hues. I can see bright signs hanging here and there above us, advertising the Games in flashing lights. Ornate statues and fountains appear every couple of blocks, reflecting rainbows off of their crystal waters. As for the people, they are just as gaudy as Effie, some even more so, with their actual skin dyed different colors. It's not long before most of them notice us as the train leisurely passes by. Some begin to point and stare and many of them smile and wave excitedly.

After growing up in a place like District Twelve, witnessing such sights as these is a bit overwhelming at first. Our district is located in the mountains, and we're surrounded by lush, green forests. The main industry is coal mining. Even someone like me, who grew up in the busier town and not on the edge of the wild like Katniss did, is still awestruck by the grandeur of this massive city and its people. It is a far cry from the rural town and mines, that's for sure.

I stare at all of the people waving and shouting at us. So, the Games have already begun, I think. To have any chance in the arena - to have even the slightest hope of keeping Katniss alive - I have to make these people like me. That shouldn't be too hard, I surmise. All I have to do is act friendly, right?

I don't notice right away that Katniss has backed away from the window. For myself, I remain there, smiling brightly and waving back at the crowd, as if being here is the greatest thing to have happened to me. That seems to excite them more and I continue to smile and wave while they cheer. I only stop when we pass into the station and the sea of faces disappear. I then look over and see Katniss staring at me quizzically, and I merely shrug in response.

"One of them must be rich," I reason. It can't hurt to try buttering up to them right away. Katniss, however, doesn't agree with me. She stays quiet, the expression on her face unreadable.

She does understand what I'm doing, right? I wonder. It's not like I'm happy about this or that I even like these people. I wish I didn't have to butter up to anyone. I don't want anyone to think that they own me or that I can be used for these games, but it's not just about me. I have to do this. I have to make sure that I'm still alive to keep Katniss alive. I can't let her die, not after I saved her on that rainy afternoon five years ago. My heart and conscience won't let that happen. I care about her too much.

I want to ask her about her thoughts on everything that's about to happen and that has happened so far, but Effie suddenly appears, urging us to get moving.

"We have quite the busy schedule today!" She chirps. "The minute we're off of this train, you will be taken to the Remake Center, where you will meet your prep teams and stylists! We can't afford to be late!"

This is something that I'm not too keen about. Haymitch told us we wouldn't like what our stylists would do to us, and I'm already beginning to agree with him. I hardly even know what a stylist would do with me, either. I just hope makeup and wigs aren't involved.

Just as Effie says, the minute we're off the train, we're escorted with her into a large car. Compared to our first car ride of this trip, it is a lot roomier and more comfortable. We are one of a few in a procession that makes its way through the streets and to a large tower. As we ride along, Effie explains to us about what to expect next. I begin hearing about things like baths, perfumes, wardrobes, extensions, alterations and more. I'm not liking where this is going at all.

We soon reach our destination and I glimpse several curious onlookers waving at us before we enter the Remake Center. At this point, Effie no longer accompanies us. Instead, people dressed in robes of pastel colors usher us down a long hallway, where the two of us are separated. Katniss and I only get to share one glance before she passes through large double doors and I through other ones on the opposite side.

It's here that I meet what is to become my prep team, which consists of two people, a man and a woman. They both have the same Capitol accent that Effie has and also sport the same outlandish looks. The lady named Thea seems to shimmer with how much gold she wears. Her hair, her lips, and her eyelashes are all a bright gold. Even her skin is patterned with golden swirls and jewels. Marcus, on the other hand, seems to really like the color red. Apart from his long, tied-back hair which is bleached white, everything he wears is red. It is his face, though, that is his most outrageous feature. It is white as well, even the eyebrows, though he doesn't look a day over thirty-five. His lips are bright red, though, with red over his eyelids as well as on his cheeks. I'm not sure whether the man is comical or terrifying.

I'm greeted with an flurry of introductions from Thea, who has just as bubbly of a personality as Effie, if not more. Marcus, on the other hand, just studies me critically.

"Pleased to meet you, I'm sure," he remarks coolly. "Now, let's get to work."

With a snap of his fingers, I'm dragged away again, this time to a shower room of sorts where I am stripped of my clothes and receive a complete scrub-down. Nothing is left unwashed. I feel like a terrified toddler, being forced to stay still as my skin is almost literally scrubbed raw over and over again. They clean every inch, even between my toes and in my ears. It doesn't end with just a bath, however. Once I'm dry, a soothing lotion is administered to my skin. It does help the stinging.

Things get a little more uncomfortable, however, when they begin applying some sort of body oil afterwards. Thea says with gleaming eyes that it'll give my skin a radiant glow, as she rubs it everywhere.

"You have fine skin; _such_ fine skin! It's like ivory!" She sighs wistfully. I just smile uncomfortably. Thea is older than me, but it's still awkward having her giving me a rub down like this.

"Thanks, I think..."

"Could do with more muscle, though." Marcus remarks. "What did you do in your district?" It doesn't sound like he's being critical now. He actually sounds a bit curious.

"I helped my father run a bakery," I answer. The man nods and walks closer to me.

"Makes sense. You seem fit, but you don't have much muscle tone. Nice and lean, though, and broad." He pats my shoulder and looks pleased.

"Looks like we won't have much difficulty with you!" Thea remarks brightly. "You'll get to meet Portia soon enough!"

"Portia?" I ask.

"She's your stylist. Don't worry! She may be young but she does have good taste. You're in good hands!"

"Well, now at least I know I'll be able to sleep well tonight!" I'm being facetious, but the two of them just laugh.

They usher me over to another room, where everything is white. I am ordered to lie back on a table and have to endure what seems like ages of "modification," mainly dealing with body hair. Most of the hair I do have is on my head but they find the stuff all over, like on my chest and stomach. Thea just chatters away about how this year's games is going to be so exciting, while I just clutch the table and silently hope this process will end soon. My skin feels like it's on fire after hair is ripped off of my body and I'm bright pink from the exposure. Fortunately, they leave my lower extremities alone and Marcus starts working on my face. I don't shave as much as either of my brothers, but every now and then I give my jaw line a once over if there's some special event that's occurring in the town. My prep team, however, is determined to make my face and neck as smooth as possible. Marcus even tackles my eyebrows.

"Is this really necessary?" I dare to ask, wincing with each pinch.

He just gives me a look. "Do you know anything about high couture and fashion?"

I can't help but smile. "Well, no..."

"Exactly. Now hold still."

I try not to laugh at the look on his face, but he just looks so disgusted and disappointed with me, as if I ought to know better. I make sure not to complain again, though I don't hold back the sigh of relief when Marcus decides he's satisfied with my appearance. Thea gives me a big smile as she runs a comb through my hair one more time. She seems to be in love with it, proclaiming that it's so natural, she doesn't have the heart to trim it - or something - and continues fawning over me as she tousles it.

"Fine, just fine!" She says brightly. Marcus nods in agreement.

"Yes, I think you'll do. That wasn't too awful, now was it?" He asks.

I do my best to smile as earnestly as I can before replying, "No, not at all."

"Marvelous! We'll go tell Portia you're ready!"

I am given a robe to put on before they leave and soon, I'm alone. My shoulders sag a little and I sigh, glad to have a minute to myself. While they aren't inherently bad people, my prep team is loud and talkative, and I feel overwhelmed by them, being some of the first Capitol people I have met besides Effie, of course. Sitting there, I already feel exhausted by everything I have undergone in these couple of hours, but I know I have to get used to it. After all, I'll be interviewed by these people and have to perform for them. It's best to acclimate myself to their customs as much as I can.

Still, my prep team is at least kind to me. I don't know if they want me to die, or if they are excited to see me die, but it is obvious that they take their job of making me look good seriously. I begin to wonder, what will my stylist be like? I hadn't really expected a woman, so I start to become curious. I honestly hope she won't gush over me like Thea. Perhaps she will be a bit more condescending like Marcus. Whatever the case, I begin to dread the ever present excitement that she will most likely display and that everyone else seems to have at the fact that I am a tribute.

The door opens again and in walks a woman who I can only assume is Portia. She is younger, as Thea had remarked, though it seems she is older than me. It's not her age that surprises me though, it's her appearance. She looks nothing like Thea or Effie or any of the other ladies I saw on my ride here. She has no crazy makeup, nothing drawn or dyed onto her skin. Her hair is cut short, falling just above her shoulders and is of a dark purple color. Her lips also match the color of her hair, but those are the only aspects of her that say Capitol style. The rest of her is pretty normal and she wears a black dress that falls to her knees.

"You must be Peeta Mellark," she speaks in a low, soft voice. A smile graces her face as she approaches me, reaching out to shake my hand. "My name is Portia. I have been assigned to be your stylist for the games." Her handshake is warm and firm. Somehow, it's comforting.

"Pleased to meet you," I answer as politely as I can. She nods and sits down on the table next to me.

"Now, I know it must be quite a shock that you've been selected, and I know you'd rather be anywhere but here," she says. I can't help but nod. "I am sorry to say I cannot change that for you, but what I can do is help you with sponsors. I can make it so that people will want you to win."

"Thank you," is my quiet response. "To be honest, I'm relieved that you haven't tried to congratulate me, or tell me how excited I should be at this opportunity."

She lets out a humorless laugh. "Oh, I'm sure you've gotten plenty of that already." She glances back at the door before leaning forward. "You needn't worry. I won't be spouting any of that tripe at you. You both have my deepest sympathies. All we can do, though, is try to help you win."

She stands up and I do the same. I honestly feel so much more relaxed, knowing that I don't have to pretend around this lady. She understands. She's not ignorant or brainwashed.

"Now, if you will follow me, we'll go somewhere more comfortable." She presses a button near a door that I hadn't noticed before and it slides open. I follow her into what appears to be a sitting room.

"No doubt you're starving after such an arduous morning," she glibly remarks as we both take a seat on some couches.

I chuckle. "It was quite an ordeal, I will admit."

"I'm sure." She gives me a grin before pressing a button on a nearby lamp stand. I stare as food suddenly appears before us on a coffee table. How in the world do they come up with something like this? Is the food already prepared and ready to shoot up to the table at the push of a button? When is the food made? I spy some rolls there on the platter and wonder if the Capitol has its own share of bakers that work hard to bake the freshest bread for the Games. Or maybe, I think, this is bread that comes from one of the districts. It's a long shot, but I could very well be looking at something my father baked himself.

And in the meantime, everyone else is wondering where their next meal will come from, I think. I glance up to see Portia watching me and I try to work up a smile.

"It looks good," I say as nonchalantly as possible. But she's not fooled, she can tell how taken aback I am at such luxuries as this.

"Yes, well, they spare no expense for the Games." She says this as pleasantly as ever, but as we lean forward to sample some of the food, she gives me a look that says she understands how uncomfortable this is for me, who is so used to making ends meet and seeing fellow neighbors starving. I now know I have an ally in her. She is someone else I can confide in if I have to, and while I'm still unsure whether Haymitch will be of much help or not, I'm certain with Portia.

"Well, Peeta, I'm going to let you in on a little secret," she begins to say after we've eaten some of the food. "For me and my partner Cinna, who is the stylist for your fellow tribute Katniss, this will be our first time as stylists for the games."

I nodded. "I thought as much. I didn't remember seeing you in any of the previous games," I reply after finishing a bite of chicken. "Were you both assigned to District Twelve because you're new?" I ask. District Twelve, being one of the poorer and less popular districts, was usually the one that new stylists and escorts had to settle with. If they did well for the games, they were sometimes promoted to a more popular set of tributes for the next year.

Portia smirks. "Believe it or not, we chose Twelve. Don't take offense, but no one really has cared about you guys in the past."

Well that's certainly true, I think. Twelve is usually overlooked by the Capitol, which is why we all have gotten away with a lot of things, such as having a black market center called the Hob, or people like Katniss and Gale being able to trade game for items. Even our fence separating us from the woods and beyond, which is supposed to be electrified all year round, has fallen into disrepair and no longer works. It was how the two of them were able to go hunting and get away with it. One could almost say we are better off than many other districts, even if we are dirt poor and starving.

"As such, Cinna and I thought you would be the best pair of tributes to work on for our first year. We can experiment with styles no one has done before with Twelve, and after going over what previous stylists have done in the past, we've decided that first of all, for the opening ceremony we want you both to wear corresponding costumes."

"So will we both be wearing mining overalls?" I wonder. That is what previous tributes from our district wore during their opening ceremonies. Since coal mining is Twelve's main industry, overalls and hardhats were usually the main costume for the tributes. Either that or they would be covered in coal dust which sparkled. My mind turns to Katniss and I begin to earnestly hope for her sake that we won't both be exposed like that, with only black soot to hide our nakedness.

Portia shakes her head. "Oh no, nothing like that. Cinna and I both agree that is way overdone. I told you, we want to experiment. We both have quite a unique idea in mind."

"I have to say, that sounds a bit frightening," I mildly joke. "Dare I ask what it is?"

"I was hoping you would." She gets up and I watch her walk over to a nearby fireplace. There's a fire going, though I can tell it's fake and mostly for show.

"For your costumes, we're not focusing on the mining itself, but the coal." She tells me. "And what is coal for?"

My eyes turn to the flames. "For burning," I answer. "For people's fires."

"Exactly." Another grin spreads over her mouth. "I've been told you work at a bakery?"

"That's right. My father is the town's baker," I answer. I'm beginning to feel a little wary of the smile on her face and the look in her eye.

"So you should be used to fire, then." Is all she says in reply. My mild concern is now turning into full out anxiety. Whatever costume ideas she and Cinna have in store for us, it will involve fire. I once again recall previous costumes where tributes were covered in nothing but coal dust. I replace that with flames in my mind, and am quite certain that both Katniss and I have been handed over to a pair of lunatics.


	5. Chapter 5

Once lunch is over and I am given a moment to relax, Portia decides she wants to show me where the opening ceremony for the games will begin. Though I'm still in my robe, she leads me out of the room and down the main hall again before we enter an elevator. Elevators are not very common in District Twelve, so my momentary confusion and surprise at the contraption is all too apparent when the doors close and we begin to travel down to the tower's basement. Portia doesn't say anything, however, and merely beckons me to follow her to a large chamber which turns out to be stables housing several horses and large chariots. She points out the chariot that Katniss and I will be riding, black and studded with silver. The horses are black as well.

"How do they expect us to stay on those things?" I can't help but wonder.

Portia just laughs. "By holding really tightly."

The day is wearing on and soon I'm back inside the Remake Center, with Portia and the prep team preparing me for the evening. It's then that I discover what my costume is: a black, form-fitting one-piece Portia calls a unitard. I'm given black boots to wear as well. Before I can put this on, however, Portia oversees Marcus and Thea as they work on my face again. There's no shaving this time, but they do wash it before dabbing on some lotion to cover blemishes. It also helps conceal the bruise that is still apparent on my cheek. Thea then produces some golden powder for what she calls "highlighting." I only hope the makeup isn't too apparent and I don't look too bizarre. Portia messes with my hair a bit, brushing it away from my eyes. No gel or anything is administered to it though. Marcus then helps me with getting the unitard on and I pull on the boots after that, lacing them up. It's quite a rigorous process.

The last touches are a cape with a matching headpiece. The cape has patterns of bright oranges, yellows and reds that look like fire. It falls from my shoulders and down to my heels.

"Do you like it? Once the procession starts, the plan is to light it on fire, along with your headdress, there." Portia tells me, as calmly as if she were talking about the weather.

I blink. "Uh, say what?"

"Oh, it's perfectly safe, I assure you. It's not real or anything," she waves my growing panic aside. "We want you two to leave an impression, and damn me if we won't be able to tonight!" She's becoming more and more excited with each word she says while I'm becoming more and more terrified.

I'm going to die even before the games have started, I think.

While Portia, Marcus and Thea gush about how fantastic the costume looks, I try my hardest not to think about burning alive as we leave the room to meet the others. I spot Katniss, wearing nearly the same getup as myself, with the same headpiece and the same cape. We take a moment to look at one another while our prep teams and Portia chatter on and on about the costumes to the man who is undoubtedly Cinna. He is dressed simply like Portia, wearing black and with short hair.

We travel down to the basement where the stables are. This time, the place is crowded with different stylists and the tributes. Each chariot for each pair of tributes is lined up in the order of the districts, so of course, ours is last. Cinna helps Katniss up onto one side of the chariot and I pull myself up next to her. Both our stylists tell us how to stand, where to hold the chariot for support and so on while they adjust our capes and headdresses. Soon, they step off of the chariot, leaving me and Katniss standing side by side. We haven't spoken to each other since this morning on the train, and while I would normally be glad to see her, I'm too distracted and perturbed about the possibilities of burning alive.

"What do you think?" Someone's whispering to me, and I realize it's Katniss. "About the fire?" She leans towards me a little, and I can tell by the look in her eye that she is just as terrified of the fire as I am.

"I'll rip off your cape if you'll rip off mine," I hiss back.

"Deal." I watch as she looks around and takes a deep breath. "I know we promised Haymitch we'd do exactly what they said, but I don't think he considered this angle," she mutters. I merely grunt in response, though I agree with her. I'm sure Haymitch didn't have to worry about being set ablaze on his opening ceremony.

"Where is Haymitch, anyway?" I wonder, looking around for the man. "Isn't he supposed to protect us from this sort of thing?" I mean, we aren't even in the arena yet, and we could be badly injured before we have to fight for our lives. It hardly seems fair.

"With all that alcohol in him, it's probably not advisable to have him near an open flame," she dryly states.

It's true. Haymitch could spontaneously combust. I feel bad about it after the fact, but combined with how anxious we both are, and at the thought of Haymitch running around with his hair on fire or something right in the midst of the procession, I snicker a little. Katniss does as well and suddenly, we're both laughing together.

Maybe Delly is right, I can't help but think. Maybe Katniss and I could become friends. It's definitely a morbid way to look at this whole situation, crediting this horrible event to bringing me closer to the girl I have feelings for, but what's the real harm in it? I don't expect to survive these games, so if I could at least get some sort of happiness out of this, it would be enough.

Our short moment of mirth quickly ends when we hear the anthem of Panem booming throughout the city and into the stables. Looking ahead, I can see the far wall of the basement opening up slowly, revealing the city streets beyond, ablaze with lights. I can hear the cheers of the people even from the back where we are waiting for our turn to parade down the street to the center of the Capitol.

As the first two districts make their way out of the stables, Cinna dashes over to our chariot, bearing a torch of what he and Portia call "synthetic fire." I clutch the side of the chariot. I don't care what it's called, it still looks like fire and he's going to light our capes and headpieces with it. I catch sight of my cape being set alight and I brace myself, waiting for the feeling of burning hair and flesh. Nothing happens though and both Cinna and I sigh.

"It works," Cinna mutters, relieved, though for a very different reason than myself. He then hops up onto the chariot before us and sets our headpieces on fire. I watch as more of the chariots begin moving, seeing the large and tiny figures of District Eleven preparing for their turn. My eyes wander over to Portia and she looks ecstatic, with a wide smile on her face.

"You've got this!" I can faintly hear her say. I try to smile back at her. I certainly hope so, I'm thinking.

Cinna hops down and joins Portia on the sidelines. I then notice he's trying to tell us something. He's shouting and making gestures with his hands.

"What's he saying?" Katniss queries.

Narrowing my eyes, I watch him closely. He's clasping his hands and pointing at us. Taking a stab in the dark, I say, "I think he wants us to hold hands."

I grasp her hand in mine. It's warm, her fingers and palms still mildly calloused even after the treatments she's received. When we show Cinna to make sure it's what he wants, he grins and gives us a thumb's up. I take a deep breath and realize that she's looking at me again, and she looks stunning. The fire is making her hair and skin shimmer and glow with a soft light, highlighting her features and casting shadows across her cheeks. Her eyes shine like silver glass in the sunlight. I want to tell her how dazzling she looks, but our horses begin to move and both our attentions are directed elsewhere. Katniss glances back at Cinna once more as I peer ahead to see the masses on either side of the street, waiting for a first glimpse of us.

Riding a chariot is nerve wracking. It's not at all smooth, like riding in a train or in a car. I'm clutching Katniss' hand as if for dear life and she is gripping my hand just as tightly. All around us, the people are going wild, chanting "District Twelve" and waving at us. Catching a glimpse of the two of us on the screens above, I can understand why. We do look like we're literally on fire, like some mythical creature in a fairy tale. It's quite a marvelous sight.

I know I have to be as charismatic as possible for this, so I go against my better judgment and let go of the chariot. Still holding Katniss's hand, I wave with my free hand, smiling all the while. Just like how it was on the train, this makes the people act even crazier. I can hear them practically shrieking, calling my name as flowers flutter down into the chariot. When I look around to my left, I can see Katniss blowing kisses to the crowd. It's a smart move, because the crowd is eating it up. They all then begin to call out her name and the sound of "Katniss" swells to a fever pitch. Good, I can't help but think. Perhaps this will get her sponsors.

The ride seems to last for hours, but in reality, it probably only takes ten or twenty minutes. We soon enter the City Circle and I can see the President's mansion looming before us, glowing with various colors. Its great gates are opening up and we soon will stop right in front of the massive structure. I have never seen a house this grand, with copious gardens spread about and fountains shooting up clear waters into the night sky.

Katniss is trying to let go of my hand, but I quickly claim it again. The procession has not ended yet and I'm still unsure of my balance on the chariot. Holding onto her hand has kept me steady, as I know it has for her.

"No, don't let go of me," I practically plead. A sheepish smile comes over my features when she looks at me. "Please. I might fall out of this thing."

"Okay," she acquiesces. My gratefulness knows no bounds and we're soon once again clutching each other's hands. If I were to be honest with myself, I wasn't just happy because she was something to hold onto during that stressful ride. I was also happy to still have that connection to Katniss, however small it might be.

The ride finally ends and we've come to the front of President Snow's mansion. He's there, standing on a high balcony and looking down at us. Even from my place down far below, I can see the cold gleam in his eyes. Appearances often deceive and at first sight, the president doesn't seem like much: thin, white-haired and of medium height. But I know he is not to be underestimated. Whatever he appears to be, the man has proven to be a cold, calculating and ambitious ruler. After all, he continues to keep the districts under fearful control with the Games.

President Snow gives a welcoming speech to the tributes, introducing the Games officially. It isn't too long of a speech, as there is most assuredly festivities to be celebrated. Our chariot soon moves again and we take another turn around the City Circle before heading to yet another tower. I can still see our faces on the screens and realize we must have made quite the impression, as Portia had hoped.

We enter another stable room at the foot of the tower and Portia approaches us this time, spraying us down to put the fire out. Only after our headdresses have been extinguished do we get to get off of the chariot and I notice we still are clinging to each other. By this time, my hand has gone slightly numb and my fingers are stiff, but I don't mind that. I'm just grateful Katniss agreed to keep holding hands throughout the entire ceremony. We let go of each other now and massage our sore fingers.

"Thanks for keeping hold of me," I say, wanting to express my gratitude. "I was getting a little shaky there."

"It didn't show," she answered, shrugging. "I'm sure no one noticed."

I begin to smile. "I'm sure they didn't notice anyone but you. You should wear flames more often. They suit you..."

I can feel my cheeks warming up a bit. It's the first time I've complimented her, and I can't believe how shy I'm feeling. I feel like a little boy again, shyly looking at the girl who captured my heart, and I almost want to look away as I had done years ago. But I don't. I just smile at her as she stares at me, probably surprised by my comment. It's true though, everything I've said. Before I'm able to say anything else, I'm rendered speechless when she leans up and kisses me on the cheek, right where Haymitch punched me.

With the ceremony over, Katniss and I are transported from the basement to an elevator that will take us to our lodgings, where we will be kept until the time comes for us to be sent into the arena. Effie Trinket has joined us, with the explanation that she will watch over us for the time being.

"Your opening ceremony was absolutely fantastic!" She congratulates us as she loads us into the elevator. She presses a button labeled Twelve and we begin to move. "Cinna and Portia really have made quite a splash already! I can't wait to see what else they design for you!"

I just smile at the lady while Katniss, seemingly awestruck, stares out of the elevator as we move. The walls are of clear glass and we can see outside as we glide up the Training Center. Looking down below, I can see the city's night life bustling about, celebrating the start of the games.

"And I must say how wonderful you both were out there!" she continues. "You were nearly perfect, standing tall, waving at the crowds; I even thought that bit of holding hands was a nice touch." She proudly smiles and takes a deep breath.

"Now, you must not think that this whole time I was just lounging about, bathing in the glory of your successful debuts! During the entire event, I was hard at work making you known to some very influential people! I happen to move in some very important circles, you see. Of course, I don't know what your strategies are yet, since you have yet to talk with Haymitch, but I've been very mysterious about it all. I pointed out how noble you both looked, how handsome you are, Peeta," she nods at me and I smile in return. "And you, of course, Katniss," she now looks at my fellow tribute. "I made sure everyone knew the story about how you sacrificed yourself for your dear sister, and how you both overcame the barbarism of your district."

Barbarism, huh? Apparently Effie Trinket and I have different ideas on what barbaric means.

"Of course, people have their reservations. You both are from the lowly coal district after all, but I said (and this was clever of me), I said, 'Well, that's the magic of coal! If you put enough pressure on it, it turns to pearls!' How about that?"

I blink. Katniss turns to stare at her. This is the first time I've heard of that, coal turning to pearls. It's not true, of course, but I wonder if Effie even knows this. Whatever the case, it's such a boldfaced lie, that I'm quite stunned for a minute. The lady is beaming at us, and is so proud of her cleverness, that all I can do is beam back at her.

"Oh, that's clever, Effie!" I exclaim. "I'm sure that will win someone over!" Katniss agrees and smiles as well.

"Isn't it, though? Of course, I can't guarantee any sponsors for you. Only Haymitch can do that. Don't worry, though, I'll get him up to the table at gunpoint, if I have to." Her face is grim and there's a determined glint in her eye. Whatever happens next, there's no doubt that Haymitch will be around more often. Effie will definitely make sure of that.

She continues to jabber on a moment later, her mood becoming cheerful again. "Now, since you two are from Twelve, you're on the highest floor in the tower: the penthouse! It's quite nice, I assure you!"

The elevator doors slide open and we enter a room that I can only describe as huge. It's bigger than the whole of my house. I spy a dining area off to my left and there's a sitting area to my right, with large sofas and a big television screen. Effie shows us where our rooms are and once again, we are left alone to change out of our costumes and rest.

I don't see the need to take yet another shower, but I do wash my face. I'm happy to get the powder off, though I do pause a moment before splashing water over my bruised cheek. That's where Katniss actually kissed me.

She kissed me. I take a minute to stare at my face, gripping the sink. Why did she do that? Did she like my compliment that much? I wonder if anyone had ever told her something like that before, not just that flames suit her, but that she looks nice. My eyes widen as I look at myself in the mirror. Could this mean that maybe, just maybe, Katniss would come to see me as more than a fellow tribute, or even a friend? The idea of Katniss beginning to like me is something I hadn't expected. Sure, I am planning to save her during the games, but I hadn't considered the two of us to go beyond friendship. Is this a possibility now? After all, friends don't really kiss each other, even on the cheek. At least, not that I'm aware of. I've done nice things for Delly and Madge, as well as compliment them, and they've never kissed me on the cheek.

After a moment of indulging in these hopeful thoughts, I heave a sigh before drying my face with a hand towel that hangs by the sink. I'm not back at home, where I can take days to think and daydream. I'm in the Capitol, just days away from looking death in the face. My main priority isn't getting Katniss to return my feelings. It's to keep her alive.

I change out of the costume and into some comfortable looking clothes that I can choose from a closet. Everything in the room has some sort of technical element to it: the closet is controlled by buttons that I can push to select clothes to wear, the windows change from different views of Panem at the touch of another button, and there's a menu on a wall with different meal selections that I can choose by once again, pushing a button. Everything is so electronic, I don't know how to feel about it. I don't really want any food, still a bit put off by the fact that it can just appear at a moment's notice. It makes me wonder if the food is actually natural, or if it's chemically made or something.

The various views of the window fascinates me, though. I push the button a couple of times to see the different options. There are even selections from different districts: the different cityscapes of the Capitol and Districts Six and Eight, the mountainous regions of Districts One, Two, and Five, the coastlines of District Four, the woods of Districts Three, Seven, and our very own Twelve, and the prairies and fields of Districts Nine, Ten and Eleven.

I have never seen the sea for myself. Only in books about Panem have I ever caught a glimpse of what it might look like, but it fascinated me even then. I tried to draw it a couple of times when I was alone, but I never could seem to do it justice. I switch over to that image now and just stare at it as I sit on my bed. It's a beautiful sight, seeing the waters wash up to the sand, or crashing onto the rocks. I can even hear automated sounds of what I can only hope the sea really sounds like. It's perfect, untouched by death, Peacekeepers or the Capitol's glitter and glamour. I only wish I could build some sort of device and just sail away; get lost out on those waters. At least I would die of my own choosing, instead of having death forced by another's hand.

A little while later, I hear voices from down the hall. It doesn't sound like Katniss. Her room is a couple of doors away from mine and she's been quiet all evening. Exiting my room, I walk down the corridor and out to the large sitting room to see that both Cinna and Portia are joining our group for dinner. It's a relief to know that the two stylists will be with us, even though I was certain that they were both insane just a couple of hours earlier. They'll be a much needed distraction from the squabbling between Effie and Haymitch.

"All rested?" Cinna asks after I've joined them. We shake hands. "Your entrance was just perfect. I can't tell you how relieved we both were to know that the fire actually worked as well as it did." He nods to Portia who smiles and pats me on the back.

"I can't tell you how relieved I was to know that I wasn't going to become a human torch!" I joke, though I'm still being completely honest. They laugh with me and Portia playfully shoves my shoulder.

"You were fine. And now the Capitol is talking of nothing but you both. They're starting to call Katniss the 'Girl on Fire'." She glances at Cinna. "Now, I wonder who came up with that?" She pointedly inquires.

The man just shrugs. "I think it fits her," is his nonchalant reply.

I can't help but nod. "It sure does." The two of us share a smile, both in agreement.

They show me around the place as we wait for the dinner to be ready. Cinna points out that the roof is accessible from where we are, opening a door that leads outside. It's a cool night, a breeze blowing from the north and stirring our hair. As I peer over the railings, I can once again see the lights of the Capitol burning bright, and can hear laughter and music.

"I'm surprised they let us go up here," I mutter. "It must have occurred to them that some tributes might just decide to end the games before they even start..."

Looking down from the roof, it sure would be a long fall. The idea to kill oneself before being killed would be quite tempting, I can't help but think.

Cinna folded his arms across his chest. "You would think so, huh? Look." He stretches his hand out beyond the railing and I'm startled to hear a sharp noise and see Cinna jerk his hand back. There is a force field around the whole building.

"You're stuck," I mutter.

"That's right," Cinna remarks.

I can't help but laugh a little. "It seems the Capitol has thought of everything. After all, we mustn't spoil the fun."

Cinna glances at me but says nothing. Instead, he points out that further back is a small greenhouse of sorts. Therein lies a garden, filled with flowers, potted trees and various plants that I don't recognize. Wind chimes tinkle at us from various branches. For the first time since I've left home, I've found some place that I can feel comfortable in. The flowers are all so pretty and in different colors. I don't say so, but I feel the urge to draw some of them.

"It's a good place to come to if you ever want to be alone," Cinna hints softly. Between the sound of the chimes and the faint whistling of the night wind, we have to stand close to each other to hear ourselves talk.

I slowly nod and say, "Definitely." He's right. It's also a good place to talk to someone if you want privacy...

We don't linger long in the garden since Portia tells us dinner should be ready soon. Returning back downstairs from the roof, we join her in the sitting room. I then notice that a couple of pale, silent figures shrouded in white are making the meal preparations. Their presence is almost eerie. Something just feels off to me about them, but I try to ignore it for now. Both the stylists seem to as they guide me over to a balcony, further away from the dining table. We talk about various things, mostly about what life is like in District Twelve. I try to describe home as best as I can, though I find myself talking more about the bakery than anything else. I really do miss it. I miss my family too, for the most part, especially my father. I can only imagine the look on his face seeing me decked out like I was for the ceremony.

"Is that my son or a piece of toast?" He would joke. I can just picture his small smile, his eyes crinkling up at the corners, amused with himself. Or at least, he would be, if I was just in some pageant or school play. But I'm not.

I take a deep breath. Father may not even be watching any of this. No doubt he's most likely trying to avoid it all, beating his frustration and grief out on a huge mound of dough. It's quite therapeutic, actually. I wish I could do that myself at the moment as I stare out at the city. I suddenly feel a hand on my back and I see Portia looking at me sadly. Once again, I know she understands what I'm feeling just by my reactions.

I give her a smile and quietly say, "I'm fine." She probably doesn't believe me, but she just nods and smiles back.

We turn at the sound of Effie greeting us. "Good, you three are here. Now I just need to retrieve the two social pariahs..." She mutters to herself before marching down the corridor to the bedrooms.

"I see Effie is still in high spirits," I observe. The other two just chuckle.

"You should see what she's done with Haymitch. Talk about makeover," Portia jokes. Soon, Effie is returning with Katniss following her. The stylists greet her and she seems somewhat pleased to see them. Now that the two have joined us, we all meander over to the dining table and the silent figures from before offer us some refreshments. When one of them comes over to me, holding a tray of wine glasses, I politely decline his offer. I know the dinner will be the start of strategizing for the games and I need to have all my wits about me for this.

We take our seats as the dinner is served and it's now that Haymitch appears. Portia was right. Whether it was Effie's doing or he really did decide to sober up after this morning on the train - or both - he looks more alert and awake than I've seen him yet. He even begins to eat when the soup is served to each of us. Speaking of which, the food is once again delicious. I especially enjoy the roast beef, sliced thinly which practically melts in my mouth. The noodles that are served with it are also particularly good, coated in a creamy sauce that has a bit of a spice to it.

I sip my water as I listen to the four adults engage in small talk. It's mainly about the opening ceremony and what they all thought of the other tributes' entrances. I'm able to catch a few names that stand out: Caesar Flickerman, the host of the Capitol's television program who interviews the tributes; Claudius Templesmith, a pompous aristocrat who is also the voice of the Games; Seneca Crane, the man who is apparently this year's Gamemaker; as well as some others who seem to all be influential figures of the Capitol that Haymitch will have to talk to.

The discussion is interrupted when a young red-haired woman appears, producing a cake that is lit on fire. Everyone claps and I can't help but join in. It really does fit the theme of the entire night, plus it looks delicious.

"Your dad bakes cakes, doesn't he, Peeta?" Portia inquires. "You'll have to tell us if it's as good as his or not!"

I shake my head, as if in doubt. "I dunno. It'll be a stiff competition!"

"What makes it burn like that?" Katniss wonders, a little on the tipsy side from the wine she drank earlier. She looks up at the girl who is cutting the cake into pieces. "Is it alcohol? Because that's the last thing I wa - oh! I know you!"

With her suddenly exclamation, all the mirth at the table dies. The adults look confused and the silent girl looks scared. I remain quiet, trying to assess the situation before me and I watch as the girl quickly shakes her head and practically runs out of the room. All eyes are focused on Katniss now, who seems baffled.

"Don't be silly, Katniss," Effie says sharply. "How could you possibly know an Avox? The very thought!"

"What's an Avox?" Katniss asks, echoing my own thoughts. The answer is more than a little disturbing. Avoxes are basically slaves for the Capitol, taken prisoner after committing treason and getting their tongues cut out as punishment. And yet, Katniss recognizes that girl, but how? The thought then occurs to me that she must have seen the girl somewhere before.

"It's not likely you know her," Haymitch says, trying to dismissively wave the entire scenario away.

"And even if you did, you're not to speak to them, unless giving an order," Effie adds. "Of course you don't know her."

"No, I guess not. I just..." Katniss stammers, trying to collect her thoughts. The wine is affecting her, but I can tell she knows something - something that is probably better left unsaid. The other four are watching her closely now, looking suspicious.

I have to break this tension up. Thinking fast, I conjure up another girl's name and snap my fingers. "Of course! Delly Cartwright, that's who it is. I kept thinking she looked familiar as well." I say, my friend being the first girl that comes to mind. "Then I realized she's a dead ringer for Delly." It's not true, but hey, it's a cover for whatever information Katniss knows about that girl. It seems to put the adults off the scent, too.

We eat the cake in a mildly uncomfortable silence. Fortunately, the adults don't question Katniss or myself about the supposed Delly lookalike, but Katniss is now lost in her thoughts again. I'm more than certain now that she knows that Avox girl from somewhere else besides the Capitol and plan to ask her about it once dinner is over.

My chance is delayed for the time being though, since we all move to the sitting room after we finish eating. There we watch the televised broadcast of the opening ceremonies. Cinna and Portia are once again complimented for their fantastic costume design, and Haymitch seems quite pleased with the decision of our holding hands. He says it's the perfect touch of rebellion and I guess he has a point. It's not very often you see two tributes, even from the same district, standing up together seemingly as friends.

Once the broadcast is over, we're basically dismissed so we can rest up before our training begins the next day. I'm not rankled by this, however, as it means I can get a moment alone with Katniss to ask her about the girl. Once we reach her bedroom door, I plant myself in front of her, leaning against the doorframe. It has the desired effect, since she's now looking at me.

"So. Delly Cartwright," I say casually. "Imagine finding her lookalike here."

Katniss doesn't answer and looks down. I'm waiting to hear what her reply will be, but it's long in coming. Tilting my head down, I can see the slight semblance of indecision on her face. That's the thing about Katniss, you can never tell what she might be thinking. Whether by the harsh upbringing in the Seam, or from the death of her father, she keeps her facial expressions schooled so that reading her is incredibly difficult. Sometimes, though, there's a flicker in her eyes - a slight betrayal of what is going on inside. I catch it briefly as she turns her head to stare down the corridor.

Taking a deep breath, I lean back and look around as well. "Have you been up to the roof yet?" I ask, wondering if she would be able to talk to me easier in a different setting.

That catches her attention and she glances at me. I continue to stare at the doors around us. "Cinna showed me earlier. You can practically see the whole city. The wind's a bit loud, though." I shrug, slowly focusing my gaze back to her. Her eyes narrow slightly.

"Can you just go up?" She wonders.

I nod. "Sure," and with that, I take her up to the door that will lead us to the roof. As before, the night breeze is softly whistling in our ears. While Katniss takes in the sight of the cityscape, I watch her quietly before explaining the force field to her. She just shakes her head.

"Always worried about our safety," is her dry reply. "Do you think they're watching us now?" She glances at me.

"Maybe," I admit. She's probably right though, and my mind turns to the garden. There, at least the sound of the wind along with the chimes can serve as some sort of cover, I reason, and I usher her over in that direction. The area is lit by some lanterns, reflecting soft light against the blossoms and leaves.

Walking side by side, I listen as Katniss begins to explain how she recognized the girl Avox. What I hear is not only intriguing, but also alarming. While her and her friend Gale Hawthorne were out hunting, they spotted the girl along with a boy through the trees, running as if from some unknown threat. She describes them as dressed in rags, thin, and sleep-deprived. What was strange about them, she says, was the fact that they definitely weren't from District Twelve. She thinks they could have even been from the Capitol.

"That's when the hovercraft appeared out of nowhere. It didn't even make a sound. They saw it, though. A net was dropped on the girl, lifting her up in seconds, as fast as the elevator here. The boy, they shot a spear through. It was connected to a cable that lifted him up, but I could tell he was already dead. We heard the girl scream. I think it was the boy's name, but I can't be sure. Then they were gone, vanished. And the birds began to sing again, as if nothing had happened..."

We don't look at each other for a minute, both of us troubled by her story. Instead, I look up at the silvery chimes that sway slightly in the wind.

"Did they see you?" I ask after a minute.

"I don't know. We were hidden under a shelf of rock," is Katniss's answer. Her voice is hushed and when I glance at her, I see her wrap her arms around herself. Her face is set in a grim mask, but I catch her shoulders quivering ever so slightly.

"You're shivering," I realize. I don't know if it's due to the cool night air or from her dark, sad story, but I quickly slip my jacket off to give to her. She steps back slightly, almost like a cat that is wary of any sort of touch. I admittedly ignore this, though, and approach her to put the jacket around her shoulders instead. Thankfully, she doesn't seem to mind after all, and is soon slipping her arms into the jacket. I hope she doesn't think I'm trying to do her any favors. It is a chilly night and she should have brought a jacket up with her. Plus, I'm wearing a long sleeved shirt, while hers is sleeveless.

"You said you think they were from here?" I query as I fasten the top button. She nods. "Where do you suppose they were going?" I wonder. I don't really expect her to know, but she might have a guess.

"I don't know that," she murmurs. "Or why they would leave here."

I can't help but scoff. Sure this place might have good food and boundless luxuries, but the way everyone lives here, the way they heedlessly disregard other's lives, and what they are capable of doing to people whom they see as traitors... I don't like it at all.

"I'd leave here!" I exclaim. Then I stop. I said that way too loudly, I realize. Who knows if the cameras could have picked that up? There's no telling whether my statement could be taken as rebellious or not, so I quickly try to cover up my blunder. I begin to laugh, hoping it doesn't sound contrived.

"I mean, I'd go home now, if they'd let me, of course. You have to admit, though, the food's prime."

There. I did it. Now I merely sound like a scared tribute, not someone who dislikes the Capitol as a whole. Katniss seems to understand and just gives me a slight nod.

Now that her story is over and we both know the truth about the young Avox, I suggest that we head back inside. Though I'm troubled by her story, I do my best to stay upbeat and lighthearted as we leave the roof. I have to keep it up for the cameras, after all.

"Your friend Gale," I remark casually. "He's the one who took your sister away at the reaping?" I know this already, but it's a good conversation starter.

She replies in the affirmative. "Do you know him?"

"Not really, but he trades with my dad and I hear the girls talk about him a lot." I say, referring to Madge and Delly. When Delly jokingly told me that I wasn't her type, I knew exactly who was: the tall, dark and grey-eyed guy from the Seam. Gale Hawthorne was a favorite among many of the town girls, and though he could sometimes be aloof and morose, they would always say that it added to his mysterious nature, whatever that meant. I had a feeling he acted a different way with Katniss, though.

"I thought he was your cousin or something," I admit. "You favor each other."

"No, we're not related."

Ah. Well that's strike one, I think, but I just nod. "Did he come and say goodbye to you?"

"Yes..." She says that slowly, and I figure she's probably wondering why I would ask or care about that. As for me, I tell myself that's strike two. The two of them aren't related, yet they're obviously friends. I can't help but think that they definitely could be more than that. They were always together back at home, anyways. I would see them around the town or leaving the Hob together. They probably are even close to each other's families...

"Your father did, too. He brought me cookies."

Thoughts about Gale and Katniss being in a relationship are pushed aside when I hear her speak again. I raise my eyebrows and look back at her. Well, that's news, though I suppose there would have been time for that as I was saying goodbye to Delly. I begin to wonder why he would do that, but flashbacks from my childhood come to me, and I then start to understand...

"Really. Well, he likes you and your sister," I say aloud. "I think he wishes he had daughters instead of a house full of boys."

Maybe that's not fair to say. I love my father and I know he cares for each of us, plus our help around the bakery does him good. Still, I can remember certain moments from when I was younger that were obvious signs that my father was not a happy man. My mother would be in one of her more vicious tempers, brandishing that wooden spoon, and he would just tune it all out. She would be screaming at us and he would walk out of the room. We would cry and he would just stare at us, as if not knowing what to do. Whenever Katniss and her sister Primrose appeared around town, however, he would smile and a faraway look would appear on his face. At first I reckoned that was due to the fact that they were both quiet and well-behaved with loving parents. Then my father told me about Mrs. Everdeen...

"He knew your mother when they were kids, you know." I tell Katniss as we make our way back to our bedrooms.

"Oh..yes, they grew up in the town together.." she realizes. I hum in acknowledgment but she doesn't say anything else. It seems there's not much else to be said on the matter, despite the fact that I can't help but think that it gives us another connection to one another, however small it might be.

We've reached our bedrooms by now and Katniss gives me her jacket back before we say goodnight. Then I head off to my room where I brush my teeth and undress before getting into bed. I don't fall asleep very quickly, however. Thoughts of that red-headed Avox girl, my father, and ultimately of Katniss keep me awake for a good long while.


	6. Chapter 6

_Just shut up! I swear you are completely useless!_

I'm dreaming again, mostly about my childhood. It seems that talking about my dad with Katniss has awakened old memories, and not all of them pleasant either: my mother's angry face before she raises her hand to punish me, insults of useless and worthless thrown our way, my father pounding away at dough, a young Cain holding me in his thin arms until I stop crying, pages upon pages of scrap paper with nothing but black meaningless scribbles all over them that I used to vent my anger and helplessness...

Some of the clearest memories, however, are of when I was very young, barely five or six years old, peering around the door into the front shop to see a tall man with dark hair and grey eyes talking to several men, including my father. They all seemed to get along, drinking out of some mugs while laughing a little. It was after hours, and the men were relaxing after a long day's work. That was when someone called for a song, and the tall man began to sing. I can't remember the song, but I do remember how beautiful his voice was. A deep, rich bass. No one really sang in my house, so hearing someone like him sing was awe-inspiring.

 _You see that little girl? I wanted to marry her mother, but she ran off with a coal miner._

I dream about a different day now. Father is pointing out a girl my age, who is walking along with a pretty blonde lady. When I demand to know why the lady would marry a coal miner over him, he just sadly smiles.

 _Because when he sings, even the birds stop to listen._

It's a little after seven when I wake up the next day. For a minute, I forget where I am as I look up at the plain white ceiling. I'm almost expecting to hear the bustling of my family just outside the room. That is, until I look over and see the wide window covered by curtains. This is not my room that I share with my brothers. This is way too big, the blankets and sheets of my bed way too silky. No, I'm in the Capitol.

I can still faintly hear the sound effects of the sea from my magical window and I get up to pull the curtains back. I'm still shown my chosen view of the ocean, but now the sky is a bright blue and the sun is shining down on the clear waters. I really should try to scrounge up some paper and watercolors, I tell myself. I could sketch this in what little spare time I have left.

I don't know what time breakfast is, so I decide I might as well get ready for the day. This time, I do take a shower and once again, all the different options and functions in the shower alone is enough to astound me. I can change the water pressure, the temperature, the way the water comes out of the shower head, and there's even an option to choose what kind of scent I want the water to be. I take five minutes just to figure out how to work the whole system before I even start to clean myself.

Once that is out of the way, I attempt to get dressed, though the idea of having to work a closet that is just as intricate as the shower is a daunting task to me. My concerns are set aside, however, since it seems someone has already chosen something for me to wear. I slip the clothes on and they're comfortable enough. I don't worry about shoes just yet and exit the bedroom.

Haymitch emerges from a door next to mine. Once again, he doesn't seem to be drunk like he was on the train. I suppose he is taking the games seriously now, which is good since today begins our strategizing as well as our official training. I have to admit, I'm a little apprehensive about the whole thing. We just had our opening ceremony, and now we only have three days to train for the games. It all goes by so fast...

"Morning." He shoots my way.

"Good morning," I answer back. I join him at his side and we head to the dining room.

"Did you have a pleasant night?" There's a twinge of sarcasm in his voice and I dryly chuckle.

"More or less. You?"

"Oh, you know. The occasional night terror now and again, but nothing too major," he snidely replies.

"Fair enough," I shrug. I'm slowly getting accustomed to the way Haymitch acts. When he's drunk, he's witless and sloppy. When he's sober, he's clever but incredibly caustic. It's a characteristic that I'm kind of used to.

Breakfast is already served and laid out for us on a side table to take. Katniss is seated at the dining table, working on a plate of rolls, two other plates already emptied near her. We say good morning to her and I have to do a double take before grabbing a plate. The two of us are once again wearing nearly the same clothes: a burgundy shirt with black pants. It's a bit of an odd decision, but I mentally shrug. I know Cinna and Portia are in charge of our wardrobes and they must obviously have a reason behind wanting the two of us to dress similarly. My guess is that they want to keep making people think the two of us are good friends. Well, it's a different angle, I will give them that.

I decide to help myself to some eggs, bacon and potatoes, making sure to also grab some more of that hot chocolate. Haymitch fills a bowl up with some stew. Then the three of us just sit there and eat quietly, Haymitch too preoccupied with his food, while Katniss stares at the rolls in front of her. I don't really know what to say, my head still full of the dreams I had last night as well as the thought of training for today.

Training for the games is a rigorous process. Each tribute gets a three day period to learn combat and survival skills. On the third day, we all have our own private session with the game makers and official judges to show them our special talents. After each of us performs, the judges will give us a rank ranging from one to twelve. The higher the rank, the more sponsors will notice. Pressure to perform well is a constant concern, as well as the fact that other tributes will do their best to find your strengths and weaknesses to use to their advantage.

Once again, I'm struck by the fact that I really am not sure what kind of impression I will be able to leave on the judges. What should I try to learn that will benefit me? What strengths do I have? I've seen some of the other tributes, and I know that there are at least three who will most definitely be stronger than me. I think of the boy from Eleven, or the boy from Two. The way the boy from Two looked at us last night after the ceremony, I just know he already has us marked. Once we're thrown into that arena, it'll only be a matter of time until he goes after us.

These dark thoughts are interrupted by Haymitch. It seems he's finished eating and he leans forward in his seat.

"All right. Let's get down to business: training. First off, if you want I can coach you both separately. Decide now."

"Why would we want to do that?" Katniss asks.

"In case you have a secret skill you don't want the other to know about."

Katniss and I exchange glances. "Well, I don't have a secret skill," I remark. "And I already know what yours is. I mean, I've eaten enough of your squirrels," I tell her.

Katniss blinks. Right, I suppose she hadn't realized that I knew who traded squirrels with my father. It wasn't supposed to be well known, after all, since my mother didn't like it. I can hide things very well, however, so mother never suspected a thing.

"You can coach us together," Katniss tells Haymitch and I nod in agreement. It couldn't hurt, and it would help the whole friendship thing we're supposed to build.

"So what can you do?" He asks us.

I rest my chin in my hand, leaning on the table. "I can't do anything," I say to the tablecloth. Then I carelessly add, "Well, unless you count baking bread."

He doesn't. I figured as much since I hadn't initially either.

"Katniss, I know you're handy with a knife."

She shakes her head. "Not really. But I can hunt with a bow and arrow."

"And you're good?" He prods. We wait for her answer, but again, it's long in coming. She picks the rolls apart as she seemingly decides what to say. I don't understand it. She is good. I know she is, though I haven't watched her hunt personally. The point of the training is to show how good you are at something so you can survive. Why is she hesitating?

"I'm all right," she finally says. It's quite a modest answer and I have to speak up for her.

"She's excellent," I chime in. "My father has bought her squirrels and he says they're the cleanest game he's ever had. She shoots 'em right in the eye." I can feel Katniss eyeing me now but I avoid her stare.

"It's the same with rabbits she sells to the butcher. She's even brought down deer."

How do I know this? It must be said that on occasion when I helped load supplies for the bakery that I caught her walking through town with her prizes. Gale Hawthorne was sometimes with her, but other times she was alone. Every time, though, she had game of some sort and while I know nothing about hunting, I know it's quite a feat to take down a deer.

"What are you doing?" She demands in a low voice that hints at annoyance.

Now I turn to look at her. "What are _you_ doing?" I shoot back. "He's asking what our skills are. If he's going to help you he needs to know what you're capable of. Don't underrate yourself." It sounds like I'm scolding her, and that's not too far from the truth. I just can't understand what the use is for such modesty at a time like this.

It seems that this rubs her the wrong way though, because she's frowning at me. "Well, what about you? I've seen you at the market lifting hundred pound bags of flour. Tell him that, why don't you? That's not nothing."

I don't really take time to analyze the fact that she noticed this. Instead, I roll my eyes. "Yeah, because I'm sure the arena will be loaded with bags of flour for me to just chuck at people," I sarcastically say. "It's not the same as using a weapon and you know it."

But Katniss ignores my statement and focuses on Haymitch. "Peeta can wrestle. He came in second at our school's wrestling tournament, only after his brother," she tells him. There's a sense of superiority in her voice, as if she's cleverly discovered some secret I have.

I can't believe she remembers that. I hadn't expected her to know my name, let alone that I wrestled for school. I can remember that day too. It was early in the springtime when Cain challenged me to join in the competition. He and I had tussled a few times together, but never in front of a group of people. Somehow, he roped me into it.

The tournament lasted a good couple of days. I hadn't expected to go very far, but sure enough, it came down to me and one other guy, my brother. I would have won too. I was doing pretty well, until near the end when I left myself open and Cain pinned me down.

"You had him! He was all yours!" Delly had complained, stomping her foot. "Why did you make such a rookie mistake like that?"

My answer made her burst out laughing. With burning cheeks, I confessed, "Because that was when I noticed Katniss was there, watching me."

And apparently, she still remembers it. I'm torn between delight, confusion, embarrassment and mild annoyance. I mean, wrestling is wrestling. It's not a good fighting mechanism for the games.

"What use is that?" I exclaim, flustered. "Have you ever seen someone wrestle someone to death?" I turn to ask Haymitch.

"There's hand to hand combat," Katniss snaps out before he can reply. "You just have to come up with a knife and you'll at least stand a chance. If I get jumped, I'm dead!"

She's getting angry at me and truth be told, my frustrations are starting to rise as well. Why is she acting like this? This is not some competition to say who has more skills or who is better. Our lives are on the line, here, and if I'm going to keep her alive, I need Haymitch to know what she can do. But it almost seems like Katniss thinks I'm embarrassing her by pointing out her qualities and not mine. I don't get it.

Frowning back at her, I slap my napkin down on the table and lean somewhat closer to stare her down.

"But you won't! You'll be up in some tree surviving on raw squirrels and picking off people with arrows!" I argue. Both Haymitch and Katniss are looking at me, one is mildly curious and the other is annoyed. I take a deep breath and sit back in the chair.

"You know what my mother said to me?" I try to speak in a quieter voice now, but it's plain to see that I'm still frustrated. "She said that maybe Twelve will finally have a victor again. Only, she didn't mean me. She meant you!" My voice rises, as the memory of that day and the cold look in her eyes comes back to me. It seems her words still hold their sting.

"Oh, she meant you," Katniss says dismissively. That just irritates me further.

"She meant _you_." I speak slowly and firmly, enough to get her attention. I can't help the frown on my face. "'She's a survivor, that one,' is what she said. _She_ is."

I hardly notice that I'm clutching the tablecloth, I'm that upset, as I realize that a part of me resents Katniss. Even though my mother is far from a loving person, she is still my mother, and to know that she values the qualities of another over that of her own son hurts. It also hurts that my father didn't seem able to rebuff her that day, either. Perhaps it was because they ran out of time, and maybe he lambasted her about it later, but for all I know, he didn't say a word in my defense.

It's not fair to Katniss though, I tell myself. She is who she is because she had to support her family. She is a survivor by necessity. Who she is makes her strong, and she shouldn't be judged for that. It's not her fault that I was more sheltered and am less prepared for the games than she is.

Maybe if I am going to die, I think, the best way would be by Katniss's hand. Either that or making an attempt to defend her...

"But only because someone helped me..."

Katniss's words bring me crashing back to reality. I meet her gaze and can't help but look at the roll in her hands. So, she remembers that afternoon. She acknowledges my actions and is, perhaps, thanking me? I can't be certain and I tell myself not to dwell on it now, shrugging like I don't know what she's talking about.

"People will help you in the arena too," I try to reason with her. "They'll be stumbling over themselves to sponsor you."

"No more than you," she quickly responds.

It takes a whole lot of willpower for me not to laugh. I just shake my head instead and roll my eyes. Katniss doesn't get it. She doesn't see what I see, what Gale probably sees, what our whole District sees, and what the Capitol will soon see. There's a power within her, a power to move people with her actions. It was part of the reason why I was moved to give her the bread; not just because I cared about her (though that was a big part of my actions), it was also because she symbolized the hardships of the Seam. I knew if I didn't show compassion, she would die like many kids from the Seam before her. It was why everyone saluted her when she volunteered for her sister. She symbolized the depth of love and sacrifice she had for her family, and displayed it in a way we all wished we had the strength to do, ourselves.

This sixteen year old girl, who just wanted to save her sister, could move mountains if she so desired.

"She has no idea," I quietly tell Haymitch, "the effect she can have."

I will not look at her, as I am more than certain she's giving me a death glare. Instead I just toy with the table a bit. It's not long before Haymitch breaks this awkward silence.

"Well then. Well, well, well." He sounds more than a little intrigued. I'm beginning to wonder if he's starting to guess my feelings towards Katniss since I'm not exactly as closed off as she can be.

"Katniss, there's no knowing if there will be a bow in the games, but when the time comes for your private session with the game makers, show them your skill in archery. Peeta."

I glance up to meet his stern gaze. "Don't underestimate your strength. Oftentimes physical power is what wins the games. The training center will have weights, but as with Katniss, save your energy till your own private session."

He folds his hands on the table and leans forward. "You both will be group training with the other tributes. Instead of honing in on abilities you already possess, take time to learn new abilities. Learn how to tie knots, build a fire, wield a sword, climb objects, swing a mace. Save showing off what you're best at for the private sessions and don't let the other tributes know what they are. Clear?"

We nod. Then Haymitch deals a final blow. He wants us to always stay together when we're in public and act really chummy for the cameras. While this would usually not be a problem for me, at this moment I'm still struggling with some slight resentment mixed with admiration for Katniss. It's confusing to say the least, and I know that she is also irritated with me. We try to object but Haymitch slams his hand on the table to shut us up.

"You agreed to do what I said, and I'm telling you that you are to be together every minute when you're in public! I don't care how you treat each other in here, provided you don't kill each other, but out there, you are to be amiable to each other. End of discussion. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten."

Katniss storms off and we hear a door slam. Haymitch takes a swig of some sort of alcohol from a bottle. I just sit there and push the hair away from my forehead in resignation. Then I take a deep breath and stand, grabbing my mug to get a refill of the hot chocolate.

"I'm taking this with me," I tell no one in particular. Haymitch doesn't seem to care and I make my way to the bedrooms.

"Hey." I hear him call out and I shoot a glance back at him. He's watching me carefully.

"What she said earlier. She was talking about you, wasn't she?" He stated.

I don't know how to answer him. It's true, she was, but I don't know if I want to divulge to Haymitch what that means. We just look at each other for a minute before he shrugs.

"You can tell me about it later. Now scram."

Nodding, I return to my bedroom. Taking a sip of the warm beverage, I sit on the bed and stare at the window. Tell him about it later? But when? I'm not about to tell him about that afternoon with the bread, not with Katniss around. She'd be even angrier with me. So when would be a good time to discuss this with Haymitch? I begin to wonder if maybe it would have been better if the two of us did decide to be coached separately. It's obvious that this friendship of ours is going nowhere fast.

I realize I also don't know when I will be able to tell Haymitch about my initial plan, either. After that scene at the breakfast table, with Katniss angrily telling Haymitch what strengths I do possess, it's plain that she would be incredibly annoyed if she knew that I plan to defend her so that she will be the sole winner. No doubt she would think that I'm trying to be superior, or that it's stupid and reckless of me, and maybe all of that is true, but I don't care. I think what I'm planning is for a good cause. Not only will I be saving the life of someone I've come to care about, but I also won't be playing by the Capitol's rules. Dying for someone is usually not a tradition for these games, since the point is not about sacrifice. It's about domination and destroying opponents. What Katniss did in volunteering for her sister was not just saving a life, it was also an act of defiance, whether she realizes it or not. She will not play by their games and watch her sister die. And neither will I.

Ten o'clock comes soon enough and I pull some shoes on to join Effie and Katniss at the elevator. We don't look at each other, standing on either side of Effie as she presses a button for the lowest level of the tower. The quiet elevator ride is too short and soon the doors open to reveal a huge gymnasium. I take a deep breath when I notice we're the last tributes to arrive, everyone else already gathered together with their District numbers written on a cloth that is pinned to their backs.

They all watch as Katniss and I join the circle. I can see a couple of sneers on the faces of the kids from the richer districts, whom Haymitch and Katniss have dubbed the Career tributes since they're practically bred for the games from infancy. No doubt they think our matching clothes are hilarious. I do my best to just ignore them and focus on the woman in charge of these training sessions. She explains that while some might die in combat, most of us will probably die from exposure, starvation, dehydration, and other natural causes. Learning survival skills is crucial.

The gymnasium is broken up into various sections. Some areas are for target practice or swordplay, others are for skills like trapping or making a fire. I notice the big round weights in the more athletic areas and mentally make a note to take advantage of those in my private session. For now, though, I figure learning some survival tactics would be best.

Before we are given free reign of the place, Atala - the lady in charge - orders us that we are not to practice combat on each other. There are trained professionals to help with that instead. It's a good thing, too, because those Careers are already displaying arrogant dominance, ready to challenge anyone to a fight if provoked. They are the healthiest looking ones in our group of twenty-four, being well-fed and athletic already from years of preparing for the games. I watch as they saunter over to the weapons area when we are let go, and already I can tell they will be deadly adversaries. The girl from Two is a whiz at knife play and the boy who is also from Two picks up a huge mace like it weighs no more than a kickball. The boy from One is pretty handy with a sword and the girl from One reveals how good her arm is as she throws a spear. The two kids from Four are also nimble and agile as they train along with the other Careers. As for the rest of the kids, some begin fumbling with the weapons. Others, like the girl from Five, begin to study survival tactics. Many of them are weak and thin, not unlike the kids from the Seam back at home.

I take another deep breath and turn to the person who I'm supposed to be best friends with. We haven't spoken a word to each other since breakfast, and I have a sneaking suspicion she's still angry at me. For the life of me, I can't say why, but she is. We have to keep this facade up though, as Haymitch ordered, so I break the ice.

"What do you want to do first?" I ask, not really caring what we start with.

Katniss's gaze drifts over to the other tributes practicing. The boy from Three is trying to maneuver his way across some hanging bars, but his thin arms are too weak to hold him up for long and he falls. The girl from Four has sprung a netted trap that easily catches its prey.

"Suppose we tie some knots?" Katniss suggests.

"Right you are."

The trainer for this section is pleased to see that we're interested in this tactic. He teaches us different ways to tie a rope and I'm amazed at how many different styles of knots there are and how each one functions differently. We then are shown how to create snares for smaller animals such as rabbits or squirrels. Katniss, of course, excels in this and between watching her and listening to the trainer, I can at least manufacture a small one after a few tries.

"What about that?" I offer after we finish with the snares. I point to a section where there are fake trees planted around some tables. On the tables are jars and brushes.

Katniss raises an eyebrow. "Camouflage?" Her voice sounds dubious, doubtful whether that survival skill will really come in handy.

"Hey, you picked the first task. Now it's my turn." I smile a little. "Humor me, will you?"

She does grudgingly cave in to my request and we join the trainer at the table of jars. She gives us what almost could be described as an art lesson, illustrating the different textures of the tree bark and leaves, as well as how the light falls on them. We are given sheets of construction paper as well as some paintbrushes of different sizes while the trainer describes how we can disguise ourselves while hiding in the arena.

"Stick to greens and browns, such as moss or mud when you start, and keep it understated." She suggests. "What you want to do is disappear; melt into your surroundings. And while you won't be able to have paint in the arena, chances are, you'll be able to find or make some substitutes."

She shows us the jars that are full of squashed berries that have been rendered a mere puddle of goo as well as some moss, clay and mud. With a little water and an eye for detail, she depicts how these all can be used for camouflaging oneself. I'm immensely excited for this. I haven't picked up a paintbrush in weeks and I begin to hope that maybe I can send for paper and paint so I can preoccupy myself in my spare time between training and meals. Painting and drawing is one of the few real pleasures I've had throughout my sixteen years. It helped me cope with things when I was younger and I feel like it would help me now as well.

I begin taking the moss and mud, adding water and mixing them together until they form a satisfactory grayish color that resembles the bark of the fake trees. I also apply some of the clay as well to add a lighter shade that would assume light reflecting off of the wood. Once I grasp the paintbrush, I go to work on my arm, ready to camouflage it. It is a slow process to paint every crevice, every ridge of the bark onto my skin. I even make sure my hand is painted, nails and all. The trainer is enthusiastic with my progress, which catches Katniss's attention, and she turns from analyzing the other kids to seeing my painted arm.

Her eyebrows lift a little, which I interpret as Katniss-speak for intrigued.

"I helped decorate the cakes," I tell her.

"Cakes? What cakes?" She queries, obviously a little sidetracked from watching the others. Compared to their training, ours is a bit mundane, I suppose.

"At the bakery," I answer. "I would frost the ones that were put on display."

If I'm expecting her to be impressed, I'm in for a rude awakening. She just folds her arms across her chest and shifts her balance from one leg to the other.

"It's lovely. Too bad you can't frost someone to death."

Funny. I roll my eyes. "Don't act so superior. You never know what they'll have in the arena." I begin to grin a little. "Say it's actually a gigantic cake.."

She doesn't seem amused. "Say we move on," she snaps.

I wash my arm off while amusedly shaking my head. It seems she is determined to stay annoyed at me, though my annoyance with her has worn off by now. It's kind of funny, in a way. She's acting like a sullen child and it seems my attempts to lighten the mood between us by cracking jokes doesn't help. Thinking back to our opening ceremony, I can recall the sight of Katniss laughing about a drunk Haymitch.

In all the years of watching Katniss from afar, I can hardly remember seeing her smile or laugh. I wonder how often she did; very rarely, it seems. But I can't help but think, as I remember that night and as I glance at her as we head to another area, that she isn't naturally severe. Perhaps life has dealt her too harsh of circumstances, yet I have a feeling that if we were somewhere else, if we were actually good friends, I would see her laugh more. It's quite a shame, I think. The look on her face and the sound of her laughter that night were both lovely. I can still remember how pleased I felt, the warmth that spread through me to hear her.

The morning goes by fast as we both continue the training. Katniss does very well at identifying different plants and I manage to climb a tree, though I get a little stuck on the way down, which doesn't impress her. When it's time for lunch, we're directed to a cafeteria, where we can pick what food we want from carts that are spread around each table. The beverages are narrowed down to either water or juice.

While the Careers sit together, making a ruckus as if to show how confident and at ease they are with each other and with the whole event, everyone else eats alone and stays quiet. That is, except for me and Katniss. We sit across from each other and try to conjure up some small talk, though we remain quieter than the rowdy bunch of six. It's not easy.

"So, um, I noticed you recognized a lot of those plants pretty quickly," I attempt to start a conversation as we eat. "Did you learn that from hunting?"

She glances up at me and then back down at her food. "Yeah, you could say that."

I nod before taking a drink of ice water. "Who taught you how to hunt?"

This time, she doesn't look at me. "My father."

"Oh." I don't really know what else to say and Katniss doesn't look like she wants to talk any more.

We work our way through the rest of the afternoon and are more than a little relieved when we are dismissed to go back to our floor. Neither of us are very tired, unlike some of the other tributes, since we devoted most of our time to learning survival skills today. However, the training isn't over just yet. Once we get back and change for dinner, we're met by both Haymitch and Effie, who demand to know how our day went.

"How did it go?" Haymitch asked.

We both shrug. "Fine."

"What did you do?"

"We studied snares, camouflage, climbing and plants."

"That's it?"

"Pretty much."

Effie tries to smile. "Well, those are all very helpful skills."

Haymitch snorts. "Yeah sure. Well, I guess there's always tomorrow too. What were the other kids doing?"

I speak up first. "Different things. Combat mostly, though."

"Were they watching you?"

"Not that I noticed." I glance at Katniss. "What do you think?"

She just shrugs. "I don't think so."

"And how do you think they size up?"

We take a moment to ponder this. This time, Katniss talks first. "A lot of them are like us, half-starved and inexperienced." She mutters sullenly.

"The kids from One and Two are cocky, though," I add. "They're really good with swords and knives."

"In that case, you two had better get your act together. Those tributes will be a major threat in the games. You had better at least study some fighting."

"Got it." I answer.

He looks at Katniss. "You got that, sweetheart?"

She glares at him. "Yes."

And so it continues the next day. We still continue to be dressed in matching clothes and follow Haymitch's orders to study combat. A trainer teaches us the best way to stand and pull our arms back to throw a spear. Another trainer shows us different maneuvers for fighting with a sword or even a knife. Katniss, already knowing how to shoot an arrow, seems to do well with spear throwing, her aim on point. While observing her, I look up and notice them: the Game makers. They are seated on a balcony of sorts that overlooks the whole gym, and they are watching us closely. I wonder if Katniss has noticed them and I try to focus on the task at hand instead. My spear throwing doesn't go as well as hers, though.

I don't like to admit it, but Katniss had been right on one aspect of our argument from that first training day. Hand to hand combat ends up being something that I don't do half bad in. Once I grasp the different moves the trainer shows to us, I am able to catch the different attacks he throws at me, blocking his strikes and dealing a practice finishing blow when spotting an opening between his parrying. Using a sword is different than using a knife, I discover. A sword is bulky, best used with two hands, while using a large knife requires more agility. I find I fare better with the knife, since I'm used to dodging and side stepping from school tournaments I've been in.

We're both a little winded by the time lunch rolls around. I almost don't want to work up the energy to try and carry a conversation again, but something changes that. I notice that the Careers are beginning to watch us. The boy from Two, whose name I discover is Cato, nudges the boy from One - who is named Marvel. They begin whispering to the others and the girls from One and Two, both named Glimmer and Clove, also look over at us, as do the tributes from Four. Katniss doesn't seem to notice this and I take a deep breath. I have to continue acting while those six continue to watch us.

I notice a bread basket on a nearby food cart and figure that's as good of a conversation starter as any. If there's one thing I'm well-learned in, it's bread. I approach the cart and pick the whole basket up, not caring if anyone else wanted something from it, and carry it back to our table. Katniss looks up and watches as I return.

"Want some bread?" I ask her.

"Sure."

Instead of handing her some, I decide to dump the entire basket onto the table. We are met with the sight of a variety of rolls.

"Well, would you look at that. They have bread from each district here," I note.

"How can you tell?"

"Well, each district has a different style. See this one?" I hold up bread that's tinted green and shaped like a fish. "This is obviously from Four, the fishing district. And if I'm not mistaken..." I break it open to reveal bits of green spread around. "It has seaweed baked into it."

"Well, I guess that makes sense.." She muses.

I nod and hand her half while I eat the other half. We both agree that it's different, though we probably wouldn't try it again. I continue to show her the different breads, identifying each district with each piece. We keep this up, looking like two companions just sharing a causal discussion.

"You sure know a lot," she remarks.

"Only about bread," I correct her, glancing sideways at the Careers. They still watch us from time to time. "Okay, now laugh like I've said something funny." I tell her.

She does and I join her, hoping we don't sound forced. This does give me an excuse to smile at her, though, without her frowning at me.

"Now, I'll keep smiling pleasantly and you talk," I say quietly, resting my cheek on my hand. It's obvious she's tired of this playacting, but I've had my turn to talk, and trying to come up with something to talk about is a bit exhausting.

"Well, did I ever tell you about the time I was chased by a bear?" She asks.

I can't help but raise my eyebrows in surprise. "No, but it sounds fascinating." I'm not acting this time. I'm generally intrigued.

She takes a deep breath and begins her story. "It was a couple of years ago. I was hunting by myself at the time, and I was having rotten luck, only snagging a rabbit or two. I had reached a stream and decided to get some water before I continued. That's when I saw it: a beehive."

"What did you do?" I ask.

"Well, I figured a beehive meant honey, and honey is a delicacy that pays a good prize at the Hob," she answered.

"That's the black market center right outside the Seam, right?"

"Pretty much. You ever go there?"

I shake my head. "Almost did once, but no. Please continue."

She sighs. "So, in order to get the honey, I had to avoid the bees. The best way to do this is to lull them to sleep. After all, the last thing I wanted or needed was to be stung to death."

I chuckle a little and nod.

"So, I made a small fire, nothing too big, right over the hive. It worked. The buzzing died down as the bees fell asleep from the smoke, and I began to climb the tree to get at the honey. I had a small knife with me to cut some of the combs and take them back home. That's when the bear appeared. He wanted the honey too and we both saw it as our property."

"Did you run?" I ask.

"No way. Running from a bear is certain death. I began to yell at him."

I can't help but laugh. The image of Katniss, hanging up in a tree with a bear at her heels, yelling at it, is priceless. She huffs a little but I can see a small smile begin to form.

"You wouldn't be laughing if it was you stuck up in that tree."

"I probably wouldn't even be alive!" I reply, wiping the corner of my eye.

"Yeah true. As for me, the bear began to climb up after me. Before he got too close, I decided to drop down and forget the honey. I spoke to him in a calm, but loud voice and backed away slowly from the tree to show him that I was not a threat. I did this for several minutes until the tree was a few yards away. Luckily he didn't think it was important to follow me and began eating the honey."

"What did you do after that?"

She lightly scoffs. "Do? I ran like lighting until I ended up at the fence!"

I laugh again. "What a story."

"Yeah, I guess. Needless to say, I was more careful when looking for honey after that."

"I can imagine." I grin. It's nice, knowing something else about Katniss. I can only imagine the different stories she has from her hunting expeditions. There is that story about the Avox girl, I realize, but I try not to think about that.

Once again, we resume our training after lunch. I'm shown how to build a fire, since Katniss knows how to already, and we continue practicing with different weapons. As Katniss continues to try improving her target practice with a spear, I turn when I notice some movement out of the corner of my eye and spot the elfish figure of the twelve year old from Eleven. She's watching us curiously.

"I think we have a shadow," I tell Katniss.

Katniss notices and I decide to pick up a spear. "I think her name is Rue," I whisper.

A slight wave of emotion passes over her face for a split second. I wonder if she is thinking about her sister. While Rue has dark skin and black hair, and Primrose has pale skin and golden hair, they're both the same age, they're both tiny, and they both are named after flowers. Yes, she is probably thinking about her sister.

"What can we do about it?" She asks harshly, confirming my suspicions.

"Nothing." I throw the spear. It hits just shy of the target. "Just making conversation."

Rue begins appearing around us wherever we practice. It's not an unwelcome presence though. She's a very clever girl, hitting targets very well with a slingshot and identifying several plants correctly. Whenever she looks at us, I smile. She cutely smiles back and I try to talk to her now and then, complimenting her at her impressive climbing skills. It's nice having her around, actually, since it clears up the tension that Katniss and I still have between each other.

When it's time to leave for the day, I wave goodbye to her before she gets on the elevator with the boy from Eleven, whose name I have learned is Thresh. Now alone, Katniss and I ride up the elevator in silence, bracing for the bombardment of questions Haymitch and Effie will most definitely throw our way.

Haymitch seems mildly satisfied when he learns that we trained with weapons today, and that we continued to stay away from archery and weight lifting. Even so, they both continue to grill us on our performances and how we interact with the other tributes. Katniss starts to look incredibly sullen and every word out of her mouth is abrupt and sharp. I try to stay relaxed, but even I am starting to feel weary at their militaristic attitudes.

"Someone ought to get Haymitch a drink," I mutter as we walk down the hallway to our bedrooms.

Katniss begins to snicker at my snide remark, but quickly stops. It's a shame. I had hoped that would make her laugh, and I was so close to working one out of her, but to no avail, it seems.

"Don't." I stop and look at her. "Don't let's pretend when there's no one around," she pleads.

I open my mouth to retort that I'm not pretending; that I truly want to be friends with her, but what's the use when she seems so against it? Instead, I sigh.

"All right, Katniss," I say quietly. She quickly nods and turns to go into her bedroom, leaving me in the hallway, wishing I knew how to express how I really feel.


	7. Chapter 7

Day three and the final day of training dawns upon us too soon. I remain lying in bed as the clock ticks away, not wanting to get up and face the coming doom of performing before the game makers. Besides, the bed is so comfortable. I desperately wish I could just fall back to sleep and drift off to a land where the Hunger Games don't exist and where both Katniss and I are back at home, safe and sound.

There's a knock on my door and I hear Effie's high-pitched voice urging me to get up. It's more than a little grating, but I slowly pull myself out of the covers and out of bed. I figure I should shower, but I don't want to. I showered yesterday, anyway, and I tug on whatever clothes the stylists selected for us today.

Haymitch is up already and drinking his mix of liquor and juice again. A bowl of stew sits empty before him.

"Mornin' sunshine," he says, probably noticing my glum attitude. I just grunt in response.

He chuckles. "Well, boy, you think you're ready to show off for the game makers? Gotta warn ya, they can be a tough audience, and they have their favorites."

I just shrug. "I'm just going to toss a few weights around. It shouldn't be too hard."

"So you would think." He stops when Katniss appears. She looks just as ecstatic as I am and keeps a stony silence as she loads her plate with food.

"Now, I know I don't have to tell you both this," Haymitch says as we eat, "but this day is crucial in deciding whether people will think you worthy of helping or not. In your private sessions, make sure they remember you."

Great. How memorable can someone throwing weights around be? I only hope Katniss doesn't display that modesty she had on day one to the game makers.

There are no arguments and no pointers given after that. We just finish up eating and prepare to head for the elevator. I glance Katniss's way as we descend to the basement, wondering what is going through her head. After begging me not to try and play friends when we're alone, she hasn't even bothered to acknowledge me. It hurts a little. Maybe she figures it would be easier in the arena if we're not friends, so she won't feel guilty when she has to kill me. Maybe she doesn't trust me and thinks I'm out to find some flaw or weakness to use to my advantage. Maybe it's a little bit of both. If only she knew...

I cross my arms and brace myself for the next couple of hours. We enter the gymnasium and get straight to work, staying together, but not really talking. This is not too much of a problem, though, since most of the other tributes are also quite grim. It seems we're not the only ones nervous about the private sessions.

While Katniss tackles sword fighting, I stand nearby and try my hand at archery. It's a good thing she's not watching me, because to put it bluntly, I fail at it. Getting the arrow to line up with the wire of the bow is harder than it looks. It quivers in my hand as I shakily aim it at the target. When I let it go, it drifts only a few feet away from me and onto the floor. Glimmer notices and smirks at me before she pulls an arrow taut and shoots. She hits the target but it's way off the mark. Had it been Katniss, she would have shot that target in record speed, I can't help but think, and I feel a surge of pride.

Not many of us have much of an appetite when lunchtime comes around. Katniss and I still sit together but don't talk much, though every now and then we try to, just to keep the act up. I do my best to stay hydrated, knowing I'll need as much energy as possible for when my turn comes to go before the game makers. Glancing over at some of the larger guys, I wonder what their strategies will be. Thresh and Cato can probably lift as many weights as I can. Marvel, though leaner, is still muscular and is handy with both sword and spear. What possible chance do I have, then, when those three will probably show off the same skills as I will?

Then it starts. Marvel is called out first, followed by Glimmer. Then Cato and Clove. One by one, until it's only myself and Katniss left waiting. Our eyes meet now and then, but we quickly look away a minute later. I wish I knew what I could say to help her, to comfort her. Talking of home wouldn't help. The two of us are too homesick and neither of us have any memories of home we can share. I think of my family and I think of hers as well. I think of the guy she is always with: Gale. He would probably know the best thing to tell her right now. No doubt they have their own jokes and secrets they share when they hunt together. No doubt she misses him. If Gale were here in my place, they wouldn't have to act like they were friends. They would be supporting each other from the start.

I mentally scold myself. It's not fair to wish this upon Gale, though, even if he would be a better comfort to Katniss. I'm sure he also has a family that he has to support, like she does. Besides, since I'm going to keep her alive in the arena, he'll be there for her when she goes home.

Suddenly, we hear a bored voice over the intercom, calling my name. With a deep breath, I rise to my feet.

"Remember what Haymitch said about throwing the weights."

I blink and turn back to look at Katniss. I hadn't expected her to say anything let alone something that hinted she was worried about me. Whether that really is the case or not is uncertain, but it still comforts me. I smile.

"Thanks. I will," I assure her. "You..." I smile more and jokingly say, "Shoot straight."

Her face softens ever so slightly and she nods. After all, we both know that she will.

With that, I turn to head back into the gym. It's eerily quiet, since I'm the only one there. Then suddenly I hear voices and when I look up, I see that the game makers are there on the balcony. They're talking amongst themselves, drinking wine from golden goblets. They don't seem to notice that I've entered and I clear my throat before speaking.

"Uh..Peeta Mellark. From District Twelve."

One or two seem to hear me and look down to see me standing there awkwardly. They give me a nod, as if telling me to get on with it. The rest of them don't seem to care. One even starts singing, which encourages the others to join in.

I decide to just get this over with and walk over to the big round weights. Sitting near them are different things to knock over. There's also a mat marked with different measurements that measure how far one can throw the weights. I exhale slowly, prepping myself for when I pick one up.

It's nothing but lifting bags of flour, I tell myself. No big deal.

In the Mellark house, working in the bakery full-time starts at age thirteen, the beginning of the teenage years. You're taught how to bake and how to work the ovens earlier, but the heavy work doesn't begin till thirteen, where you're expected to do everything on your own. I can remember on the day when I turned thirteen, Cain, at fifteen, smacked me upside the head in his usual manner and told me it was time I got to work.

"Time to put the pencil down and start pulling your weight around here, as it were!" He smirked.

"What am I supposed to do?" I asked wearily, dragging my feet as I followed him downstairs.

"I'm gonna show you how to load supplies from the truck." He shot me a far too pleased grin. "Finally, I don't have to do this by myself!"

It was basically drudgework. Father drove up with Roy bearing different supplies, such as sugar, milk, baking tools, and of course, the flour bags. Then it was up to Cain and myself to get them into the storehouse, where we would sort everything and restock what was needed for the bakery. I didn't start with the flour right away, actually. Instead, I began with lifting the milk jugs, which were big enough for a thirteen year old boy. These jugs were recycled, so we couldn't keep them, and I had to pour each of them into a container of our own that we kept in an ice box of sorts. By the time I was finished, my arms screamed and my back ached up and down.

I had to move quickly, though, as I soon found out. Mother expected us to get these chores done under a certain amount of time so we could manage the shop and look after the baking bread. By the next year, I had gotten used to the sore limbs and my tired back. Cain then showed me the best way to stoop down and pick up the flour bags and I soon found that I became accustomed to lifting those as well. I became the one responsible for restocking the bakery and taking care of the inventory, doing all the work myself, since my other brothers worked in the actual bakery all day and I could only work after school was over. On the weekends, however, I did a little bit of everything.

The weights don't seem to weigh much more than what I've lifted for the bakery and I grip them tightly in my hand as I begin throwing them. Keeping my posture erect, and my knees flexed, I knock over a row of metal pipes with one, and hit the mark of 60 feet on the mat. Not too bad. I look up to see what the game makers might think, but as before, only a couple are paying attention. I had been tossing around weights for a good ten minutes, and they didn't seem to care. I suppose they were getting bored of having to observe twenty-four competing tributes.

Tired and frustrated, I just begin throwing the weights around, not caring where or what they hit. I try throwing them up as high as I can, which almost costs me my foot when one slips out of my sweaty hand the wrong way and comes falling down too close for comfort. My biceps and forearms begin to complain after I decide to catch one in my hands.

"That's enough. You may go."

I'm both relieved and irritated at the same time. As I feared, I don't think I left much of an impression on them, but it's still annoying how much I'm disregarded. At this rate, I probably won't receive a score higher than a five. I shake my head and swipe my hand under my nose. I'm sweating like a pig.

I only hope Katniss does better than me, I think as I head to the elevator and go back to our floor.

Effie is sitting on one of the couches, watching some broadcast of the Capitol when I arrive. She turns to see me enter and quickly approaches me.

"Well now, that was faster than I anticipated! How do you feel?" She asked, looking legitimately concerned, which surprises and touches me.

I smile a little. "Tired."

She clicks her tongue as a worried mother would and pats my shoulder. "Well, of course you do! Go ahead and clean yourself up. Order something to eat there in your room and take some rest. You deserve it, Peeta."

"Thanks, Effie," I say warmly. Well, even if she is a Capitol debutante fed by the government's lies, she still has a tender heart. I turn to go to my room when an idea hits me. "Hey, Effie?"

She blinks and smiles again. "Yes, dear?"

"Do you think that I could have some paper and pencils?" I ask. She looks at me quizzically and I decide to explain myself. "I like to sketch stuff in my spare time. It would be something to take my mind off of things..."

She seems touched at this and places a hand on her cheek. "Oh, of course. I should be able to come up with something. Goodness knows you've earned it."

"Thank you. I appreciate it," I tell her before leaving. I certainly hope she can come up with something, even if it's just a simple sheet of paper and charcoal. It would be the best way to distract me from all the thoughts that swirl around in my head.

I'm about to strip down to take a shower when I hear a door slam. The sound wasn't too far away from my room. Peering out of the door, I see Effie walking up to Katniss's door. Was she back? How did her session go? Was that her door I heard slam? There are so many questions I want to ask as I watch the lady knock on Katniss's door.

"Katniss, dear? Is everything all right?"

"Go away!" Is the reply. Katniss's voice is high pitched and strained. I grip the door as I realize she is fighting hard not to cry. Something bad must have happened during her session.

"Please, Katniss. Tell me what happened."

Haymitch approaches at the sound of all the commotion. "Come on, sweetheart. Open the door," he urges. I just close my eyes in exasperation. Using that term the way he does, that is probably the last thing she wants to hear.

"I said go away!" She screams. "Just leave me alone!"

Haymitch huffs, annoyed, and stalks off. Effie hesitates for a moment before she, too, departs. Meanwhile, I remain standing there, staring at the door across from mine, tempted to go over and knock on it myself. I know it would be a useless effort, though, as she has refused any attempt of friendship I've tried to have with her. I sigh and just lean against my doorframe, wishing I had the right to stride in there, wrap my arms around her and tell her everything will be okay.

It doesn't matter what you did or what score you get from those people, I long to tell her. I will do everything in my power to see that you go home...

I don't do anything, however. I simply shut the door quietly and prepare to lose myself in the hot water of the shower. I smash at any buttons that come in sight, which turns out to be a bad choice, because my heart nearly stops at how cold the water is when it spurts out. I'm ready to curse everything about the Capitol and it's stupid technology as I scramble to change the temperature. So much for a peaceful shower, I think, and I quickly get out to change and lie down on the bed. Before I know it, I fall asleep.

I dream of a little girl in a plaid dress with her hair in braids, singing before me, with the voice of an angel. I then see her again, older, and no longer singing; her hair now in one braid instead of two. Again and again, I see her in different stages of life, and gradually her face changes from the happy little singer to a somber pre-teen with old eyes. I dream of a mine exploding, of my father sadly watching a lady with yellow hair slowly leading two girls by the hand away from the Justice building. The girl with the plaid dress and one braid wears a medal...

It's close to dinnertime when I wake up again. To my surprise, lying on the nearby side table is a pad of paper with some pencils. I quickly sit up and hold the items in my hands. I can hardly believe Effie actually came through. Even though I wouldn't be able to add color to anything, that didn't matter. I would be able to draw now. For a split second, I almost forget to worry about what my score will end up being and quickly flip the pad open. Before I know it, I'm sketching one of the dreams I can recall: a little boy with curly hair watching as a little girl in braids sings.

I don't stop until I capture the whole scene on the paper as best as I can remember it. When I'm finished, and am finally satisfied with the outcome, I set the pad aside with the pencils and slowly rise from the bed. I know I have to go out there and face whatever comes my way next. At least the dinner should be good.

Once again, I'm greeted with the pleasant surprise that Cinna and Portia have shown up. Portia gives me another hug and I exchange a cordial greeting with Cinna.

"What have you two been up to?" I ask, wanting to avoid the topic at hand for the moment.

"Designing your interview outfits, of course!" Portia exclaims. "They've turned out fantastic!"

"How are you and Katniss holding up?' Cinna questioned. He sure is a direct person. I sigh and rub the back of my head.

"Not too bad..not too good, either," I admit. I remember hearing Katniss storming to her room earlier today. I don't know what to do. I just hope she's all right.

The two of them nod. "Looks that way. Well, we'll see what's going on when they announce your scores." Cinna states.

"Right." I'm feeling nervous now. I don't want to disappoint anyone, but I am certain that my score is going to be low. What else could it be? Those men hardly took any notice of what I was doing.

Once again, the silent Avox men and women begin serving us wine. This time, I don't really care about maintaining my senses and begin taking sips of the stuff. It smells odd and it's dry. I don't think I like it much. Haymitch then appears and smirks at the glass in my hand before grabbing the entire bottle, as if to show me how it's really done. I don't like the stuff anyway, so I set my glass down on the dining table.

When Katniss and Effie appear, we all sit down to eat. I continually try to catch Katniss's attention, glancing at her again and again. I want to see if she's all right. I want to know what happened. As the other four begin chatting about something mundane, like the weather, different dishes are passed around and we take some helpings for ourselves. When Katniss looks up to take a leg of chicken, our eyes meet. Her eyes are slightly red and puffy. She has definitely been crying.

I raise my eyebrows, being the only way I can silently convey what I want to ask. _What happened?_ She just shakes her head, possibly telling me we could talk about it later. Haymitch notices our wordless exchange and he sets his fork down on his plate.

"Okay, so tell me. Just how bad were you today, really?" Well, he certainly gets straight to the point.

I decide to go first for Katniss. "Well, I don't know that it mattered," I shrug. "By the time I got there, no one bothered to look at me, hardly. They were singing some sort of drinking song, I think. I just threw around some heavy objects until they said I could go."

It's true, they hardly looked at me, but I hope it will convey the message to them all that whatever we did, it went unnoticed.

Haymitch nods and turns to Katniss. "And you, sweetheart?" There it is again, that term of endearment that he uses to annoy her. It always works, too. Katniss begins to glare at him.

"I shot an arrow at the game makers."

All sound and movement stops. Each of us are staring at her. I'm glad I hadn't decided to take a drink yet, or I would have choked on it. Well, so much for thinking the gamemakers wouldn't have noticed us, or Katniss at least.

"You what?!" Effie gasps. I just continue to stare at her. Katniss has done it again. I don't think she will ever cease to amaze me. She's turned this whole thing around on their heads and basically demanded that they acknowledge her as a competitor who won't go down without a fight. Perhaps it was a bold and reckless move, but they will for sure remember her now.

"I shot an arrow at them," Katniss repeats. "Not at them. More in their direction. It's like what Peeta said. I was shooting and they were ignoring me. And I just - I just lost my head, so I shot an apple right out of their stupid roast pig's mouth!"

Personally, I think it's fantastic. I watch her as she talks, and I see an obstinate gleam in her eye. A proud raise of her chin. A defiant Katniss is quite a breathtaking sight.

"And what did they say?" Cinna asks calmly and slowly. It's the perfect tone to cool her down.

"Nothing. Or I don't know. I walked out after that."

"Without being dismissed?!" I think Effie might burst a blood vessel.

"I dismissed myself," is Katniss's harsh reply. Effie doesn't know what to say to that, but she still looks horrified. I just shake my head, unable to stop the smile on my face. Portia and I exchange glances and she's smiling a little too, though hiding it behind her glass.

"Well, that's that," Hamitch says nonchalantly. He begins to butter a roll, seemingly unfazed by the story.

Katniss's defiance starts to slowly devolve into anxiety as she asks about what they might do to her or her family. Of course, the answer is nothing. We're only a day or two away from the games, and to arrest Katniss or her family over this would mean that they would have to admit to what she did. That would definitely prick Capitol pride.

"They'll just make life Hell for you in the arena," he tells her, still as casual as ever.

"They've already promised to do that to us, anyway," I point out, shrugging.

"Very true," Haymitch acquiesces, and with that, the mood at the table suddenly lightens. It just gets even better when Haymitch asks Katniss how the game makers reacted and she describes how shocked their faces were. Apparently one man fell into a bowl of punch, to which Haymitch bursts out laughing, followed by the rest of us. All except for Effie, although I see a smile on her face.

"Serves them right. It's their job to pay attention to you. Just because you come from the coal district, that doesn't give them the excuse to ignore you."

We all turn to look at her, mildly surprised at how bold that was. She glances around before shrugging. "I'm sorry. That's just what I think."

And you have every right to, I want to say. I just smile at her though and she sheepishly smiles back.

"I'll get a very bad score," Katniss figures. I don't agree. A bold move like that is something the audience will eat up during the games.

"Scores only matter if they're high. No one pays attention to the bad or mediocre ones. For all they know, you could be hiding your talents to get a low score on purpose," Portia assures her. "People use that strategy."

Katniss isn't the only one comforted by this fact. "Then I hope that's how people interpret the four I'll probably get, if that," I say, chuckling. Portia just shakes her head at me and I grin back at her. "Really, I don't think there's anything less impressive than watching a person pick up a heavy ball and throw it a couple of yards. One almost landed on my foot," I admit to Katniss.

She smiles and I feel warmth rush through me. It's a relief to see that she's calmed down now. She's even begun to eat more, which is always a good sign. The rest of us seem to also gain our appetites back and the dinner ends pleasantly.

Now comes the big reveal: what our scores will be. The worst part about this is, just like with the sessions themselves, we go last. I take a seat on the couch with Portia on one side and, surprisingly, Katniss on my other side. It seems she's forgotten the fact that she's supposed to be ignoring me.

We watch the other tributes receive their scores. The Careers come out with scores ranging from eight to ten. No surprise there. Many of the others get fours, fives and sixes. Rue gets a seven and Thresh gets an eight. We're up next and since I went in first, my score will be the first to be shown. I lean forward a little at the sound of my name and I see my face appear on the screen. The announcer pauses a moment, and then the number appears below my picture. A solid eight.

I can't believe it. An eight. I tied with Thresh. Everyone congratulates me and Portia assures me that we can work with that. I'm just surprised I got anything higher than a four.

Now it's Katniss's turn. I glance at her after her face appears on the screen. Her real face is just as stoic as the one in her picture, but her knuckles are white. I wish I could lay my hand over them, but instead I just look back at the screen.

Katniss scores an eleven.

Relief, awe, admiration, and perhaps a little intimidation. Those are the first emotions that come over me as everyone claps her on the back and congratulates her. I put my hand on her shoulder for a brief moment and smile. This is good. This is very good. She will definitely get sponsors now.

We make our way to our bedrooms not long after that, though I am far from tired. I have too much on my mind.

"Hey."

An abrupt remark stops me before I turn to go to my room. Once again, I'm surprised Katniss is talking to me.

"Yeah?"

"Good job. In getting that eight, I mean."

I just smile and cross my arms over my chest. "Good job yourself. An eleven is nothing to sneeze at."

"Yeah, I guess not. I'm still surprised, to be honest."

"Well, you definitely earned it. And now people won't underestimate you in the arena, either."

Something flickers in her eyes and I begin to wish I hadn't said that. She's eyeing me a little more guardedly now, sizing me up to see how much of a foe I could be, I suppose. I did score an eight after all.

I should have known better. She only sees me as a potential enemy for the games. She doesn't trust me.

 _I'm not Gale._ The thought comes so suddenly that I quickly look away. But it's true, and why should she see me otherwise? Our only real connection is with the bread and that was five years ago. She doesn't know anything else about me, other than the fact that I can lift things and wrestle.

"Well. Good night."

I turn when I hear Katniss opening her bedroom door and I'm able to get a "good night" out in return before she disappears. Well that was awkward, I think and resign myself to my room. Still not being tired, I keep the lamp on and turn my attention to the notepad where I lose myself in different sketches that seem to fly out of my head. I sketch the train with two faces peering out of the window, the chariot and horses, the towers of the Capitol, a little girl peering down from a tree, and lastly, I sketch a man falling into a punch bowl while an apple, stuck through with an arrow, is pinned to a wall.

An hour or so later, as I lie in bed listening to the muffled noise of the fake sea, I think about the next coming days. All that's left before we're thrown into the arena is tomorrow, which will consist of coaching for the interviews, followed by the day after; the day of the interviews themselves. I have to work on my strategy. My plan is to do everything it takes to keep Katniss alive in there, but how should I do that? Katniss has pulled an outstanding score from the gamemakers and she will probably do just as well in her interview, but what about in the arena itself?

I need to talk to Haymitch, and I need to talk to him alone. Katniss can't be there. She can't know. Of course, my pride would say otherwise. Let her know. Let her see what a daring sacrifice you're going to make for her just to get her home. But it's not that simple. I know Katniss a little better now. She's self-reliant and proud, herself. I was right to assume back on the train that she wouldn't like what I was planning.

"Only one thing to do," I mutter before I drop off to sleep, though I know I won't like it.

I'm up bright and early the next day, resolved in my next step. I quickly get dressed, brush my teeth and make my way out to the dining room. As I hoped, Haymitch and Effie are both there, just starting their breakfasts. Effie, of course, happily ushers me over.

"Well well," Haymitch says, leaning back in his seat. "You're up a bit early. Are you that excited to begin your final training?"

"No. I have a proposition." I announce as I grab some food.

"Oh really. And what would that be?"

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, I set my plate on the table.

"I want to be coached separately."

Effie widens her eyes and Haymitch narrows his. He studies me carefully as I sit down.

"Well, this is definitely unexpected!" Effie exclaims. "And here I thought-"

"It's quite common, really. Once one tribute sees how much of a threat the other can be, opinions change.."

"It's not that," I snap at Haymitch. "I was glad she got that eleven."

"Then why this change of heart, Peeta?" He asks me. I can tell he genuinely wants to know.

This is it. I'm finally going to explain my plan. I only hope this man is trustworthy enough to share it with me.

"Because I don't plan to win these games. I plan to get Katniss out of here alive."

I can tell they both realize the connotations behind my statement. Effie's jaw drops and Haymitch stares at me more intently.

"You got a death wish or something, boy?" He asks in a low voice. "That's almost suicidal thinking."

"No," I answer firmly. "It's not like that. The truth of the matter is..." I take a deep breath. I'm about to tell two complete strangers the secret that I've kept nearly hidden for years. "I care about her. Katniss. I've had feelings for her since I was a kid."

Effie gasps, laying a hand over her mouth, and whispers, "Oh no..."

Haymitch raises his eyebrows. "So. You have feelings for Miss Katniss Everdeen, the Girl on Fire. The girl that most everyone else now wants to kill. My condolences," he adds derisively.

That makes me angry. "I didn't tell you this to make fun of me," I snap.

He sighs and his shoulders slump a little. "No, I know why you did." He takes a swig from his bottle. "You want me to help you come up with a way to keep her alive."

My anger abates. Taking a deep breath, I nod. "Yes. But I don't think Katniss should know. That's why I want to be coached separately."

"I still don't see the necessity!" Effie cries. "Why shouldn't she know?"

"Because she wouldn't go for it," Haymitch answers tiredly. "She'd probably think Peeta's trying to make a fool of her or something. That's what I would have thought," he mutters.

"Exactly. I need to talk about this with you alone," I tell him.

"Very well. You know what this means, though, don't you?" He demands, giving me a hard stare. "To her, you'll be nothing more than another enemy she'll have to deal with. And if it turns out that it ends up being you against her, it'll take her a lot of convincing before she understands what your real intentions are."

I hate how coldly Haymitch portrays Katniss. She's not like that, not from what I've seen in how she treats Primrose or even Gale. She's not a born killer without feelings. I'm sure she doesn't want to kill anyone any more than I do. Of course, this is the Hunger Games. It doesn't matter what morals or convictions you had before. The games change you. We've all seen it happen. There was even a tribute one year who resorted to cannibalism to survive. By the end, he was merely a shell of the boy he was before, almost like a machine devoid of any compassion or empathy. He began to enjoy eating human flesh and lost sight of who he was before the games. He was ultimately killed in an avalanche because the Capitol didn't like the fact that he'd gone insane.

I don't want to become like that. I would rather die before that happened. It would better to die as myself than to live as a monster. Of course, I hope Katniss won't end up like that either, but she's strong. As my mother said, she's a survivor. No, she'll go home to her family. To Gale. If she does suffer from the games, they'll be there to pick her up.

"I know," I finally answer. "But it's the risk I'm willing to take. Like I said, I'm not in this to win."

Effie looks like she's tearing up but blinks rapidly and gives a shake of her head. "Well then. It certainly shows how much you do care for her."

"I just hope you won't regret it," Haymitch mutters, staring at his bottle.

I shake my head. "I won't. I've had this planned in my head from almost day one."

"Well it's certainly very selfless of you. Stupid, but selfless." He groans a little and cracks his back. "Fine then. I'll help you."

A wave of relief and gratitude rushes over me. "Thank you, Haymitch."

"Don't thank me just yet," he growls. "First, there's the matter of your interview-"

He stops and his eyes drift past me. Turning, I realize why. Katniss has appeared. We quickly separate from our huddle and resume picking away at our breakfasts. Effie can hardly even get a sip of her coffee down and Haymitch just continues staring at the liquor bottle. It makes me exasperated. They're not being even remotely subtle.

Fortunately, Katniss seems too focused on her food to notice at first. Of course, it's not long before she does realize that no one is talking. After taking a gulp of orange juice, she looks at us.

"What's going on? You start coaching us on our interviews today, right?" She asks.

"That's right," Haymitch speaks up.

"Then let's get started. You don't have to wait till I finish eating," she suggests. I just look down at the roll of bread I have yet to eat.

"Well, there's been a change of plans about our current approach."

I have a feeling he's looking at me, but I keep my eyes on the bread. I don't want to see the look on Katniss's face when he tells her.

"What is it?"

I see, out of the corner of my eye, Haymitch shrugging. Then I hear, "Peeta has asked to be coached separately."


	8. Chapter 8

_Peeta has asked to be coached separately._

Katniss doesn't say anything at first in response to this news. I wonder if she's watching me for any sign as to why I've made this decision as I continue to avert my eyes. After a minute or so, she speaks.

"Good. So when do we start?"

Haymitch is probably answering her question, but I don't listen. That's it? Really? I don't know what I expected, but what I didn't expect was such a short, almost cold answer. All right, I guess we weren't exactly friends, and I had begun to suspect that Katniss didn't trust me, but I did at least hope she'd be a little upset by my sudden decision.

 _Who are you kidding?_ I scold myself. _Of course she would be like this. She has no idea what you're planning to do. She probably even thinks you're intimidated by her eleven._

Even so, that doesn't make it hurt any less. I suppose Haymitch was right about her in some aspects, which makes sense. The two are kind of similar; not that Katniss is a washed out drunk or a slob, but she is reclusive like Haymitch, and boy, can she be sarcastic when she wants to be. I'm also right about one thing, I don't like this at all. I don't want Katniss to think I'm another enemy she has to be forced to kill in order to go home.

But if that's what it takes to save her, I think, then that's how it's going to be.

Katniss and I both have four hours to spend with Effie and Haymitch. Effie is given the task to coach us on posture and how to act during the interview. Haymitch's job is to consult us in what we should say. Katniss heads off to her room with Effie first; I suppose it's due to the fact that as a young woman she'll have to learn how to conduct herself in a fancy dress and shoes. It'll probably take more work than it will with me. I wish her luck, because I've seen the type of shoes Effie wears and I have no idea how she's able to skip around or even walk like she does.

As they head off, I dare to look up and watch Katniss leave. I feel miserable. I wish I was anywhere else but here, making the girl I like think that I have a vendetta against her.

"You sure you want to do this?" Haymitch asks quietly.

I tear my gaze from her and nod. "I'm sure," I answer.

The man takes a deep breath and downs another gulp of liquor. It seems to be empty now, as he drops it on the table.

"All right. Let's sit somewhere more comfortable," he suggests, gesturing to the sitting room.

He sits on one couch, I sit on another and we face each other, neither of us really knowing where to start. To my relief, he speaks up first.

"Why don't we start at the beginning. Now, you want to save this girl because you care for her. Right?"

I nod. "That's right."

"I suppose she doesn't know that you feel this way?"

I wryly smile. "Ah, no. I never worked up the courage to talk to her. She's from the Seam, as you know. And I'm from town..."

"Yeah, I guess the two don't exactly mesh."

"Not according to the folks around town, anyway," is my reply. Then I sigh. "I honestly thought she didn't know that I existed. That is..."

"That is until that little comment at breakfast a couple days ago," he concluded. I rub my neck, nod again and I see him lean forward a little. "What was that about, anyway?"

I take a deep breath and figure I might as well tell him about the bread. But suddenly, I pause and look around. "Well, I don't know if I want to talk about it in the open like this..."

He blinks, looks around as I did, and nods. "We'll go somewhere more private. The roof, maybe?"

I agree with this suggestion and follow him up to the door that leads outside. It's quieter out here during the day, most likely due to the fact that many of the Capitol elite are still lazing around in bed. However, it's still windy enough that the wind chimes are singing. We sit on a bench in the garden before either of us starts talking again.

"Better now? Not so paranoid out here?" He asks with a smirk. I use all of my self control to refrain from rolling my eyes.

"Yeah, sure."

"Well, then. You were saying?" He remarks.

Before I know it, I'm telling him all about that afternoon; about the bread, Katniss starving on our doorstep, my punishment, everything. When I finish, I'm not all too surprised to see Haymitch smirking a little.

"How sweet. A baker's boy with a heart of gold."

I just know my face is bright red and I glare at him. "Oh shut up. I don't know why I even told you about that..."

"No, I'm glad you did!" He chuckles. "It really is a touching story. You could use that in your interview. They'd eat it up like there's no tomorrow."

My eyes widen and I shake my head so hard that my hair is wagging back and forth over my eyes.

"No way am I telling them that. I don't need Katniss killing me before the games even start!"

He shrugs. "Well, if you plan on keeping her alive, there's no better way to start than by making her look good during the interviews. What you say about her could garner more sponsors."

I look down at my socked feet and take a moment to think about this. He's right. I could say something that would make her look good. But before that, I have to make myself look good, right? No sense in trying to appeal to an audience that doesn't like me.

"Haymitch, what angle do you think I should go for during the interview?" I ask him. "I know a lot of tributes try to be charming, or confident, or even arrogant. Arrogance is not exactly my thing, though.." I sheepishly smile.

"You've got that right," he mutters. "Well, let's see how you do with some questions that you could be asked during your interview, and we'll go from there. But first, we're going back inside," he orders. I can tell the wind chimes are starting to bug him.

"Sounds good," I reply, shrugging. We return to the sitting room and once again situate ourselves back on the couches.

Haymitch then begins asking me things about myself, my family, where I'm from, and how I feel about being a tribute. It's basically playacting. I have to act like I'm talking to the talk show host while trying to please the audience with my answers. I try to be honest, but not too honest. I don't really want to say much about my family and I definitely sugarcoat how I feel about being a tribute, but I do it all with a smile and act as relaxed as possible. After a few hours of this, Haymitch stops.

"Well, the best I can say is, you're pretty down to earth. People like that. I would try to figure out something pleasant to say about the Capitol, if I were you. I know, it's difficult," he quickly adds as I frown a little, "but it'll help them relate to you. It could be anything: the food, the tech, the soft beds.."

I know he's right. I tried to avoid saying much about the Capitol at all besides the fact that I could hardly believe that I was here. It's just hard. How can you compliment a government that kills kids for sport?

"You could spin a sort of fish-out-of-water feel to it. Talk about how advanced everything is compared to your rural upbringing," he suggests.

I think about that for a minute and nod. "Yeah, that is a good idea.." I mutter. At least I won't be outright gushing over them. "Other than that, though, what do you think?"

He scratches a spot on his jaw. It makes a harsh noise, like sandpaper on wood. "Your best bet is to act like you did just now. Be likable. As I've said, you've got this real down-to-earth vibe going on, and you acted pretty humble. I think they'll like you, especially the ladies. One can only take cocky arrogance or over-confidence for so long."

"I'll take your word for it.." I smile.

"See?" He points at me. "Just like that. A little bit of uncertainty is appealing. Just don't become too insecure or anything, or else you'll come off as weak. You think you can do that?"

I don't know what else to say other than, "I'll try," and I shrug. He nods in response and leans back in the couch, steepling his fingers together.

"Now, you said you wanted me to help keep Katniss alive. Like I said, the interviews are a big part of this. You got any ideas?"

I think about the questions he just asked me. I think about how I am going to present myself. Likable. Down to earth. Humble. A little uncertain. I'm basically an underdog who doesn't know if I'll live or die. Everyone loves an underdog, right? Then there's the fact that things are even harder with Katniss being here. Even if I did live, how could I if she died? Then it dawns on me.

"I could admit that I like Katniss..." I say thoughtfully.

Haymitch's eyebrows raise up on his forehead. "There's an idea."

"It would go along with the whole down-to-earth thing. Me basically admitting that I've got rotten luck from the beginning because I like the girl who came with me to the games."

"Good point. Plus it would make Katniss look good. They'd want to sponsor her, if they like you. They would want to save her since you couldn't," he tells me.

"Then let's do it," I decide. I don't know why, but I feel really good about this. Although admitting my feelings to a whole crowd of strangers with the other tributes witnessing it is terrifying, something in my gut tells me it will make an impact. Hopefully it will do its job and affect the Capitol citizens enough to sponsor her.

"Leave it for the end of the interview," Haymitch suggests. "After all, you'll be the last one up. You save it for the very end of the whole broadcast, and I guarantee it'll be all they talk about."

"Let's hope so," I remark. "And we won't tell Katniss about this," I remind him.

"Not a word," he agrees. "It'll make her reaction all the more genuine."

Yeah, I think. Whatever reaction that might be.

The Avox servers soon silently appear, starting the preparations for lunch. I watch them for a minute before glancing back at Haymich.

"Has this ever happened before? I mean, has there ever been someone in my situation?"

He looks up at the ceiling and ponders my question for a moment before shaking his head. "Not as far as I know. I mean, sure there were kids who had sweethearts they left behind, but I don't recall sweethearts being sent into games together."

"What about married couples?" I wonder.

"Not since I've been around," he shakes his head. "The selections are too random."

"I guess we just got lucky," I say dryly.

That gets a grim laugh out of him. "Yeah, really."

By lunchtime, we both are satisfied with how I'll go about my interview. I try not to think about the fact that I'm going to be broadcasting my crush to the whole of Panem, with Katniss right there witnessing it. It just makes my nerves skyrocket, and I have yet to go about my coaching with Effie.

Katniss reappears at lunch and stays quiet as she usually does, though perhaps a little more peeved than usual. I guess her coaching with Effie went that well. I can't help but notice that she's wearing a dress, one that's nicer than any I've seen from home. It's most likely not the one she's going to wear tomorrow night, but it's still pretty. She is pretty. It's not the usual survivalist-hunter look that I find appealing, but I realize that I like this too. Katniss in a fancy dress is a side of her that I've never seen before, and I can't help but be curious to see more. Of course, it wouldn't be Katniss if she wasn't gathering bunches of the dress in her hands so she can see where she's walking. I smile a little as she takes a seat with us.

We do our best to not talk to one another and I keep my attention focused on Haymitch as well as Effie, who also seems a little flustered from her time with Katniss. It's just as well. Looking at Katniss makes me nervous again, since I can't help but wonder what her reaction will be when she finds out our plan. I wager it'll either be a death glare and expletives or complete and utter disassociation.

"All right. You know the drill. Go with Effie." Haymitch dismisses me after lunch and conducts Katniss over to the sitting room. Meanwhile, I keep my eyes focused straight ahead of me as Effie leads me to my room. Lying on my bed is a three-piece suit, along with a tie that is neatly folded. Leather shoes rest on the floor.

Effie tells me to dress in the bathroom and I carefully pick the clothes up before doing so. The fabrics of both the shirt and the slacks are finer than I've ever had back at home. As with Katniss, I figure this isn't what I'll be wearing tomorrow night, but it's still fancy enough. I don't think I've ever worn a vest in my life, let alone a tie. I only know what I'm putting on is a three-piece suit because I've been in the tailor's shop back at home.

After what seems like hours of buttoning up the shirt cuffs and matching up the buttons on the vest, I exit the bathroom to be inspected by Effie. She tuts to herself, adjusts my collar, makes sure my shirt is properly tucked in, straightens my vest and then stands back. Resting her hands on her hips, she takes a deep breath and lets it out in a huff.

"Well now. I think you'll do just fine. Do you know how to tie a tie?" She asks.

"No.." I admit. "I've never had to wear one."

She exasperatedly sighs. "Oh, of course you haven't. Don't worry. I'm sure your prep team will do that for you." She assures me.

I smile a little as she hands me the suit jacket. "Rough morning?" I guess, noticing Effie is not her usual chipper self. It seems she is still annoyed at her time with my fellow tribute.

"Oh, it's nothing," she waves my comment aside. "I know it's hard. But we all must grin and bear it."

I decide to just nod as I slip the shoes on. Hopefully she'll be able to cool down after this morning. After all, Katniss can't be blamed if she was antagonistic. We're being displayed for public enjoyment, so people can bet on who will live through this whole thing. It's no wonder Katniss was being hostile.

The suit jacket fits snugly around my shoulders and Effie instructs me on which buttons I should fasten. I tug the sleeves down a little so they rest just at my wrists while Effie observes how I look.

"Very dashing. Now, about your posture..."

She orders me to straighten my back, keep my chin up, pull my shoulders back and stand with feet firmly and evenly planted. I'm even told to walk around the room a little so she can observe my posture. Then we move to sitting. I'm told I can cross my legs if I want, but only a certain way. My shoulders and back should still be straight, my head held high. If I must extend my arm, I can, but across the back of my chair, and I am not to prop my elbow up on it either. I must do my best to always smile and she gives me different things to say while I'm smiling. Smile about this, laugh about that, always be polite and never slouch or lean forward so that my back is hunched.

"Just think of it as sitting in a room, talking with friends. You just happen to be the topic of conversation, that's all," she suggests, and I can tell that her bright tone is just a little bit forced. I'm guessing she's expecting some backlash, but I don't give it. I know I have to do what she says. My stakes during this interview are a little higher than the others'. I have to act like I could be the Capitol's friend. I have to smile broadly and butter up the crowd. I don't want to, but it's necessary, since there's someone I have to protect.

I cross my leg as she showed me, hooking my hands around my knee. Then I give Effie a winning smile. "How's this? Not too casual, is it?"

She smiles a little and studies me for a minute. "Keep that head held high." She finally orders, tapping me on the head.

She seems to cheer up a little more during the remainder of my coaching session. She gives me a few more pointers on how I can move comfortably about in a suit before we finally call it a day and I'm free to head out to dinner.

Katniss is not there and Haymitch is surly, downing another bottle of alcohol. I know better than to try to talk to him as we eat. However bad her session was with Effie, it seems Katniss's session with Haymitch was far worse. The three of us stay quiet as we eat together, each of us seemingly lost in our own thoughts.

"So what about in the arena?"

I blink and look up from my nearly empty plate. Haymitch apparently has asked me a question and I see him watching me.

"Come again?" I say.

"You know how you're going to protect Katniss for the interview, but what about when you're actually in the arena? Have you thought that far yet?"

I don't answer right away, ashamed to admit that I haven't. He seems to notice.

He huffs. "Well, that's definitely a no. Listen, I don't know how you'll convince her that you're not out to kill her since you decided to be coached separately, but you'd better think of something quickly."

"Well that's not very helpful!" Effie snaps.

"Do you have any suggestions?" I ask wearily. I really don't want to endure an argument between the two of them.

He hums in thought and slowly spins the bottle around on the table, dripping the remains of alcohol onto the tablecloth, which doesn't please Effie.

"You could make allies with other tributes, like say, the Careers."

I frown. "Isn't that the opposite of what I want to do? They'll obviously be out for Katniss's blood once we get in there."

"Doesn't mean you can't pretend you are, too. That's what you need to learn about these games. You have to be cunning and deceptive, sometimes ruthless too, if you want to survive. If you try to ally with those kids, you'll have access to all the resources that will be provided at the Cornucopia. That will keep you alive for a good while, and you can use them until you don't need them anymore."

I take a moment to think about this. "I suppose you have a point." A realization hits me and I sigh. "By doing that, I can also lead them off of her scent until she's holed up away somewhere, or hiding up in a tree..."

He nods. "That's what I'm talking about."

Effie seems to think it's a bit risky, and I'm a little wary of the idea as well. I tell Haymitch that I'll consider this option and he just shrugs. It's our lives at stake, he warns as I head off to my room. I want to get a good long rest before tomorrow, the day of the interviews, but sleep evades me as I keep thinking about Haymitch's idea. Team up with Careers? I don't like that idea any more than I like the six tributes themselves. I would much rather just try to catch Katniss alone and explain everything to her so the two of us could try to survive together until the end, and if someone else found us and tried to kill one of us, I would fight for her. I don't know how I would go about doing that, but it's better than the alternative, I tell myself. I try to shove Haymitch's ridiculous idea to the back of my head as I fall asleep.

I wake up the next morning and nearly have a heart attack when I see my prep team watching me.

"Hello Peeta!" Thea brightly greets me.

"Uh, ah, what are you two doing here..?" I stutter.

Marcus rolls his eyes. "What do you think? We have to get you ready for tonight, of course."

I blink. "Oh. Right. Can I have some breakfast first?" I joke.

Marcus sighs exasperatedly but Thea giggles. "Well of course! There's some food for you right there!" She points to the side table where my drawing pad usually sits, and instead there's a tray of food with a glass of orange juice. As I eat, the two of them prattle away about what's to come tonight, what I should expect with the way the evening will go and what the host, Caesar Flickerman will be like. They describe most of what I can recall about the man: a flamboyant but charismatic person with bright teeth and blue hair.

Breakfast now over, I'm pulled out of bed and am shoved into the bathroom to be cleaned up for tonight. Once again they use all sorts of different lotions and stuff to make my skin look soft and healthy. Thea still loves how pale I am for some reason and by the time she's done with me, I'm almost glowing. They then go to work on my face, with Marcus shaving me once again before they begin putting a bit of makeup on, like with the opening ceremony. The gold dust comes back as well and Thea does something with my eyes to - as she says - make them look even bluer. I once again just hope I don't look weird. I can only imagine what Cain would think if I appeared on the stage wearing as much makeup as Thea or Effie. I can just picture him falling out of his chair laughing or something, making fun of me to all his friends.

Despite Thea's objections, Marcus trims my hair a bit, mostly around the ears and neck. He then takes a comb and brushes it back (as Portia had done for the opening ceremonies) before ordering me to close my eyes. I hear the sound of him spraying something and feel a cool mist hit my face before he says I can open them again.

That's when Portia comes in and she smiles at me. "Well don't you look fantastic."

I wince. "By fantastic, I hope you don't mean ridiculous," I whisper as the prep team cleans up and she approaches me.

"No, don't worry. I made sure to tell them that we wanted to keep you looking as natural as possible," she assured me. "Trust me, it could be worse. There was even the possibility of muscle implants if I didn't intervene."

I stare at her, eyes probably as wide as the saucer of the teacup on my breakfast tray. "Well, thank you for preventing that..."

She nods and pats my shoulder. "Of course. Now, are you ready for your outfit for tonight?"

I shrug. "Lay it on me."

I'm handed what she calls a garment bag and when we open it, there's a black three-piece suit trimmed with oranges and reds, making it look like fire is slowly consuming it at the edges.

"Fancy isn't it? Go on and put it on," she urges as she hands me the pants. I'm soon dressed, buttoning up the vest that goes along with the suit jacket. All that's left is the tie.

"Could you help me..?" I ask sheepishly. "I've never worn one of these."

She smiles a little and nods, looping it around my collar before performing a series of quick flips and twists. Before I know it, the tie is in a neat knot under my collar at my neck. She tells me to tuck in under my vest and tugs it a little at my throat so I'm comfortable.

"Looking good. See for yourself."

I glance in the mirror and the first thing that comes to mind is how relieved I am that I still can recognize myself. I haven't been painted over like Marcus or any of the Capitol citizens. Portia has outdone herself, though. The suit is more stunning than myself; it seems to burn with an imaginary fire every time I move.

I'm given a shiny pair of black shoes to wear and I'm ready to go. Portia orders some lunch for us and I remove the suit jacket, laying it on the bed as we eat at a small table near the window.

"So, how do you feel about tonight?" She asks me.

I take a deep breath. "You don't think anything drastic will happen beforehand that will postpone it, do you? Like a storm or a blackout?" I jokingly ask.

She amusedly shakes her head. "That bad, huh?"

I rest my elbow on the table, supporting my head with my hand. "I'm just worried I'll say the wrong thing."

"You won't." She pats my arm.

"How do you know?" I counter. "It's not like I've ever been on live television before."

"Well if it helps, just pretend like you're talking to me. That shouldn't be hard, right? I'll be sitting there right in the front with the other stylists."

I smile a little. "Yeah, I think I can do that..."

"Then you won't have any trouble. If you feel nervous, just look at me."

I squeeze her hand slightly and smile more, extremely grateful for how kind she's being. "Thank you, Portia. I probably will be glancing your way a lot." I chuckle and she laughs with me.

Time passes too quickly and before I know it, the two of us are joined by my prep team and we head to the elevator. Katniss, Cinna and her team are there as well as Haymitch and Effie, who have dressed up for the occasion.

Katniss looks amazing. No, seriously. Every time she fidgets or moves, her scarlet dress shimmers with an invisible fire similar to that of my suit. Even when she blinks, there is a spark. Red is woven through her braid and her skin is adorned with intricate patterns of red along her arms. Our eyes briefly meet but I quickly look away. I don't want her to notice if I begin to blush. If only we were anywhere but here, where we seem to be pitted against each other as enemies, I think. I just really want to tell her how beautiful she looks. Randomly, I wonder what Gale would say if he saw in person Katniss looking like this, and if what he would say would please her.

The elevator descends to the bottom of the training center and when the doors open, we see the other tributes gathered together, dressed in their finest, ready to appear on television. Portia gives me one last pat on the shoulder and one more smile before she and Cinna leave to go take their seats.

Like the other tributes, Katniss and I stand silently side-by-side as we wait for our turns to walk onto the stage, which is decked with bright lights and screens that will display each of our pictures and scores during each of our interviews. Behind the two chairs that are reserved for the host and the guest are two rows of twelve where we will sit as we wait for our turns.

Just as Katniss and I are about to begin walking, Haymitch appears behind us.

"Remember, you two are still a happy pair, so act like it," he growls. Katniss doesn't look back at him, still aggravated, I suppose, but I do. I give him a small nod and he stalks off. When it's Katniss's turn to walk onto the stage, I smile in her direction and step aside for her. Whether she notices or not is uncertain. She is probably too nervous to notice anything really, I think, with how stiff she seems.

It's soon my turn to step up onto the stage, walking single-file behind Katniss. The first thing I notice is the elevated seats we will be sitting on before it's our turn to be interviewed. The platform that they're on is lit with small balls of light that will dim and brighten each time a tribute gets up from their seat or sits back down. I keep a smile on my face as I take my seat next to Katniss, and I notice I'm the last seat on the bottom row. Well, at least I won't have to worry about walking past tributes on my way to Caesar, and I won't trip.

People are everywhere. There are balconies situated up high on nearby buildings, where I notice the Gamemakers are sitting as well as different camera crews. Below are elevated seats where the prestigious members of the Capitol, including the stylists, are sitting. Other than that, the city streets are crowded with people standing there to watch. I can only imagine everyone at home. People sitting in their houses, or crammed around a television in their small shacks, forced to watch as their televisions turn on by themselves, ready for them to see us make a spectacle of ourselves.

Then Caesar Flickerman himself appears, bouncing onto the stage. He's laughing with his bright teeth flashing in the spotlight. As everyone claps for him and the introduction music plays, he waves and continues to laugh, pointing at those who call out his name. His cheerfulness is contagious. It's no wonder he's had this position as a show host for so long. When he sits down to begin the show, his voice is strong and cheerful. He has the audience laughing in a mere matter of seconds.

Unlike with the private training sessions, the girls go first for the interviews. It's both a blessing and a curse, really. Being from District Twelve, as well as the male, I will be the very last tribute to be interviewed. This gives me time to think about my strategy and to see what the others will do, and while that is helpful, waiting till my turn comes at the very end is going to be nerve-wracking. I just hope the audience isn't bored to distraction by the time I go up there. I guess I'll just have to be exuding charisma, which might not be so easy.

Glimmer is called up first. With grace and poise, she glides up to the front of the stage and begins to talk to Caesar. Each interview only lasts three minutes, so pretty soon she's waving and blowing kisses to the crowd before she glides back to her seat. One by one, they each walk up to talk to him. Provocative, charming, arrogant, shy, mysterious, sullen. Each tribute has different attributes they display, and Caesar is quite an ingenious host, doing his best to make each tribute look appealing for the viewers. He laughs at jokes, acts impressed when someone attempts to be clever or mysterious and even makes some of the shy ones come out of their shells a little.

The interviews go by quickly. Almost too quickly. Soon little Rue steps up for her interview and she's adorable, answering each question precociously. Flickerman is of course touched when the girl says she shouldn't be underestimated because she will be hard to catch. Thresh goes up after her and he answers his questions with short, clipped replies. Then it's Katniss's turn. I look over at her and once again see that blank mask on her face, taking me back to the very first day when we were thrown into this. She's keeping a firm lock on her emotions, but I just know. She's terrified. Her hands are clenched, her knuckles are white. I almost reach out to touch her hand but decide to refrain. It's not time to show my true feelings yet.

She gets up to walk over to Caesar and our eyes meet. I smile at her, wanting to comfort her in some way, and she blinks. But before she can react, Caesar shouts her name excitedly. Word of the Girl on Fire has spread like, well, wildfire. Everyone is excited to see her, to hear what she will have to say.

Caesar begins asking her questions such as how the Capitol has impressed her or what she thought about her opening costume, to which she awkwardly answers with dry jokes. The audience seems to find her amusing, laughing along with Caesar when she claims she liked her opening costume only after she knew she wasn't going to burn to death. Then she decides to stand up to show more of Cinna's handiwork, twirling around in her fiery dress until it looks like she's being engulfed in flames. It's absolutely stunning.

The rest of the interview goes very well for her. The audience loves her, and she moves them with her solemn comments about her sister.

"She asked me to try really hard to win," she admits quietly, when Caesar asks her what Primrose said to her after the reaping.

"And what did you say?' He asks, with bated breath, just like the rest of the audience.

A pause. Then she answers in a low voice, "I swore I would." It's a chilling answer and very effective. I think we all shiver when we hear her, even if just a slight bit.

Then her interview ends. I feel my stomach do a flip and I take a deep breath when she rises from her seat and shakes Caesar's hand one more time. Now she's coming back to the rest of us. Her face is still stoic, but her posture is more relaxed. I'm sure she's relieved it's all over and done with, now that she just has to sit there with the rest of the tributes. As soon as she takes her seat, I hear Caesar shout out.

"All right everyone! Last but certainly not least, give it up for the boy from District Twelve, Peeta Mellark!"

They're all applauding for my entrance and I quickly exhale before standing up to my feet. Here goes nothing.

I feel my heart begin to beat faster. Can I do this? Can I really pull this off? My eyes drift over to the stylists and I see Portia smiling at me, as if to tell me she has faith in my success. It's encouraging and I do my best to loosen up a bit more.

Smile. Be likable. Remember to say something good about the Capitol. Act like you're talking with friends. I repeat these orders to myself as I walk over to the two chairs. Once my eyes meet Caesar's, I give him the most winning smile I can conjure up. I just hope it isn't too forced. He smiles just as broadly and reaches for my hand, which I shake firmly, making sure to show that I'm not nervous. Nope. Not in the slightest.

I turn to the audience and they're all waving and cheering, some are calling my name. Best thing I can do, I figure, is to wave back and bestow more smiles upon them. It's definitely a good idea, since they cheer louder.

Caesar is more outlandish looking up close. His hair is a baby blue, along with his eyelids and eyebrows, with a face that's painted white. It reminds me of Marcus a little, except Marcus uses the color red. Blue is a softer color, and not as frightening, I decide. Caesar also sports a suit the color of the night sky that twinkles with sequins, as if with stars.

Once we shake hands, he urges me to sit down, and I make sure to follow Effie's instructions to sit up straight with my head held high. I do want to make it look like I'm at ease with him, though, so I lean back in my seat a bit and cross my legs with hands resting on my knee to be comfortable.

"So! Peeta, tell us!" Caesar begins. "You come from District Twelve, the coal district. I suppose you're one of those men hefting coal around in those dark mines, eh?" He winces a little, as if terrified of the idea. His face is comical and I can't help but laugh a little.

"Believe it or not, no, Caesar," I answer. "I actually work in a bakery."

The audience titters in curiosity. I wonder if they even have a bakery around here. Caesar also seems intrigued.

"A bakery, you say! I suppose you bake all sorts of different delicacies?" He queries.

I nod. "All sorts."

The audience begins chuckling as he curiously asks what we bake. "Rolls?"

"Yep."

"Biscuits?"

"Oh, you know it," I assure him. I don't know if he's acting or not, but he looks hungry. "Warm and soft, with butter coated over the top."

"Oh that sounds good.." He mutters loud enough so the audience hears. It makes them laugh more.

"And did I mention our cakes?" I remark, which pricks his ears.

"Cakes, you say?"

"So many cakes," I tell him, "covered with a sweet, sugary icing that we make ourselves."

It's amusing to see how I've practically won the man over to the idea of our bakery. "I think I might have to visit District Twelve just to go to your bakery, Peeta!"

I grin. "Well, maybe not right away, Caesar.." I tease, nodding to his stomach. He pretends to act offended but then sighs and nods.

"It's true.." He rubs his supposedly bulging stomach and we all laugh.

Everything's going really well, I'm surprised to realize. We continue to chat, and I'm finding it easier than I thought. I make some silly remarks about recognizing the different breads from the Districts, comparing them to the other tributes, which amuses the audience as well. Then Caesar asks me about the Capitol.

"I've been asking all of you because we're all curious to know, what is it about the Capitol that impresses you the most, you think?" He wonders.

I tilt my head to the side and think. "Hm.. Well, that's hard to say, but I think my answer would have to be the showers."

He blinks. "The showers? How so?"

My eyes widen. "Well, Caesar, back at home, showers just have one knob to turn the water on. But here? There are a ton of options, not just in turning on the water, but also adjusting the temperature and even the pressure! I don't know how you all do it!" I exclaim. I do indeed sound like a fish out of water.

Caesar grins. "Well I guess it's just something to get accustomed to!"

I chuckle. "You've got that right. My first night here, I just wanted to take a warm shower to relax after our trip, you understand. It was a long trip," I reason.

"Oh, of course," he nods.

"So, I go to turn the water on and I'm greeted with the sight of _a ton_ of buttons!" I spread my hands out wide to depict just how many buttons I supposedly saw.

Everyone begins to laugh again at how horrified I seem as I go on.

"I press one, and I'm blasted with cold water! Then I press another button and the water is still cold but it hits me like a ton of little pebbles! I keep pressing button after button and I'm even sprayed with some sort of perfume to make me smell good after the shower is over, which makes me sneeze!" I cover my face as if embarrassed which even makes Caesar chuckle a little.

"Yes, I can see how confusing that would be," he sympathizes.

"I still don't think I've grasped the system completely," I admit, grinning. "Tell me, Caesar, do I smell like roses to you?"

I urge him to lean forward and we take turns sniffing each other. I can hear the audience roaring with laughter as we jokingly enjoy each other's pleasant scents.

Time is almost up and I'm secretly worried that I won't get the chance to mention my feelings for Katniss. Haymitch did say to save it for the very end, though, so hopefully Caesar will ask me one more question.

He does.

"Now, before we have to part, Peeta, I have to ask. I'm sure you must miss your home and family. Any chance that there could be a girlfriend watching back at home?" He wonders. "We're all curious, aren't we, folks?" He turns to the audience and asks, to which many whoop in reply.

This is what I want to hear. I shyly smile, hesitate before answering, and then slightly shake my head. Caesar doesn't buy it, which is what I want. I want to keep him and everyone else curious for the big reveal.

Caesar tuts. "Oh, I don't believe it! A handsome boy like you! There must be some special girl! Come on, what's her name?" He goads me on.

I heave a heavy sigh. "Well, there is this _one_ girl," I admit slowly. "I've had a crush on her ever since I can remember, but I'm pretty sure she didn't know I was alive until the reaping."

I turn to look at Portia, suddenly feeling my hands growing sweaty. This is it. I can hear the audience uttering gasps and sighs of sympathy while she nods at me and smiles again. It's all right, I tell myself. In these past couple of minutes, I've won them over. Everything is going as planned.

"She have another fellow?" Caesar asks, his eyes full of the same sympathy.

Yes, I want to say, thinking of Gale. "I don't know, but a lot of boys like her."

That's not exactly true. I don't know if boys like her or not. All I do know is that I need to do my best to make her look good. That answer just kind of popped out.

Caesar gives me an encouraging smile. "So here's what you do," he says, putting a hand on my shoulder. "You win, you go home. She can't turn you down then, eh?" He winks and grins at me.

The audience murmurs in agreement but I just smile and shake my head. "I don't think that's going to work out," I inform him. "Winning...won't work in my case."

"Why ever not?" Caesar asks.

Everyone is silent, my answer not expected. I have them in rapt attention. I can just see Haymitch's face; can imagine him saying, _this is it!_

Suddenly, I find that I'm blushing. That wasn't planned, but hey, I am admitting my feelings for Katniss to practically all of Panem when before I couldn't even work myself up to talk to her.

"Because..." I begin to stammer. This is embarrassing. "Because...she came here with me."


	9. Chapter 9

**Part 2: The Games**

Everyone is in utter shock. I can hear people gasping; some even let out exclamations of horror and agony, but I keep my eyes lowered at my shoes, still extremely embarrassed by my confession. When I do look up again, my first sight is Portia, who looks just as surprised as everyone else. I then decide to turn to look at Caesar whose expression is downcast.

"Well, that's bad luck.." he murmurs. I can tell he honestly feels bad for me and the crowd utters murmurs of agreement.

I nod. "Yeah, it's not good." Well, that's an understatement, but it's all I can come up with at the moment.

The man tries to scrounge up some sort of a smile for me. "Well, I don't think any of us can blame you." There's that hand on my shoulder again. "It'd be hard not to fall for that young lady. And she didn't know..?"

I shake my head. "Not until now." I keep my eyes focused on him. I honestly don't want to see what Katniss's face looks like at the moment.

"Wouldn't you love to pull her back out here and get a response?" Caesar again flashes a winning smile at the crowd, and we hear deafening screams in agreement. He sighs and shrugs in resignation. "Unfortunately, rules are rules and Katniss Everdeen's time has been spent. Well," he stands up to shake my hand again. I grasp it firmly. "Best of luck to you, Peeta Mellark, and I think I speak for all of Panem when I say our hearts go with yours."

I work up a sad smile and I glance over to see the crowd cheering for me, crying out their hearts for me and my unrequited love. When the roar dies down a bit, I croak out a thank you and nod at everyone in gratitude. My cheeks still feel warm and my hands are slick from sweat at how nervous I had been the whole time, but it's done. I've blown the crowd away with my declaration.

Once I've taken my seat with the other tributes again, the screens switch to shots of me and Katniss sitting side by side. It's then that I notice that her cheeks are slightly pink, her face a mixture of confusion and embarrassment. I then catch a glimpse of the other tributes' faces and some of them look a bit annoyed. I had expected this, though. As with Katniss's high score, the sheer volume of popularity my interview gives both of us comes off as a threat. They might even think we planned this. Now I definitely know we need to watch our backs.

The anthem of Panem begins to sound and we walk off of the stage in single file, making our way back to the elevators. I don't mean to, but my eyes search for Katniss and I see her getting on a car with some other tributes from Six, Nine and Ten. She's avoiding me. Sighing, I wait for one of the elevators to return to the bottom floor when someone roughly shoves my shoulder. Cato, the boy from Two, smirks at me before he steps into an elevator. There's a cold, deadly gleam in his eye.

Haymitch frowns and pats my back. "Good work, kid," he mutters. "They ate it up."

"Yeah," I reply. "But now I definitely don't see how teaming up with the Careers is gonna help me."

He grunts in agreement. It's obvious he saw the look Cato just gave me. "No, I don't think you have much of a chance there," he admits. "But you never know."

I refrain from any smart comments that come to mind and just quickly step into the elevator when I hear the dinging sound of the doors opening. Fortunately, I'm alone, and it gives me time to collect my thoughts. Tomorrow is the day of the Games. The beginning of the end. Tonight is the last real good night's sleep I'm going to have, but there's no way I'm going to sleep much. Maybe I'll just stay up all night drawing to preoccupy my mind.

That wouldn't be a good idea, though, I tell myself. I need all the strength I can get for tomorrow, and staying up all night with no sleep would diminish my strength and energy. The thought is so tempting, though. I'm just terrified at the notion that come tomorrow, I could be dead.

The doors ding open again and I step onto our floor, prepared to just head to my room and curl under the blankets to await the coming dawn. Before I can barely walk two feet, however, I'm blinded by a flurry of reds and oranges. A pair of flashing grey eyes bear down upon me before I'm hit with a sudden unexpected force to my chest. I stumble, collide with an urn that's filled with fake flowers, and we both take a tumble. I hear the shattering of glass, feel a sharp pain in my hands as warmth trickles down my palms, and see a trembling Katniss towering above me in rage.

She shoved me. I can't believe she actually shoved me and made me fall right on my back, in a midst of glass shards, no less. Pieces of it are sticking out of my hands.

"What was that for?!" I exclaim. I'm so baffled as to why she's so angry with me. What did I do?

"You had no right!" She shouts. "No right to say those things about me!"

I can't help but gape at her. What in the world is she talking about? What things? That I like her? Well, who would have thought that my liking her would be so insulting? Is she mad because I kind of fibbed about there being tons of guys who like her? Why would she care about that? I just stare at her in disbelief. I don't understand this girl at all.

The elevator dings once more and our crew appear, greeted with the sight of Katniss glaring at me as I sit there on the floor with a shattered urn and bloodied hands.

"What's going on?!" Effie shrieks. "Did you fall?" She gingerly steps around the pieces of glass and grabs one of my arms while Cinna graciously assists me with my other one.

"Yeah, after she shoved me," I answer accusingly. Wincing, I begin to pull the shards out of my hands. Blood drips onto the floor, staining the carpet.

Haymitch rounds on Katniss. " _Shoved him?_ "

She goes off on him now, though she doesn't try to shove him. "This was your idea, wasn't it? Turning me into some kind of fool in front of the whole country!"

"It was my idea," I step in. "Haymitch just helped me with it."

"Yes, Haymitch is _very_ helpful, to you!" She vehemently accuses.

Before I can say anything, the man glares at her. "You _are_ a fool!" He says disgustedly. "Do you honestly think he hurt you? This boy has given you something you could never achieve on your own!"

"He made me look weak!"

"He made you look _desirable!"_

I take a deep breath and just eye my bleeding hands. The blood is oozing into my crevices, trickling between my fingers. Well, I do have to get used to the sight of blood come tomorrow, I muse, as Haymitch continues to scold Katniss. It is somewhat of a comfort to know he's on my side about this. I was not trying to hurt her or degrade her. What we were hoping would happen did happen. She's all they'll be talking about, along with my poor pitiful unrequited feelings, and how we have to kill each other. Poor us. That's basically what he's telling her, too. He calls us the star-crossed lovers of District Twelve.

"But we're not star-crossed lovers!" She exclaims. I try to pretend that this quick summation doesn't hurt at all.

"Who cares?!" Haymitch growls. He's pinned her to a wall by the shoulders. I take a step to stop him, but Portia intervenes by grabbing my arm.

"It's all a big show! It's all how you're perceived!" He continues to admonish her. "The most I can say about your interview is that you were nice enough, although that in and of itself is a small miracle. Now I can say you're a heartbreaker! Oh, oh, oh how the boys back at home fall longingly at your feet! Which do you think will get more sponsors?"

Katniss shoves him away and steps aside, just glaring at him. Slowly, though, the anger starts to abate. I can tell the gears are turning in her head as she ponders just exactly what my stunt has done for her. Cinna agrees with Haymitch too, which helps.

Still, she tries to fight. "I should have been told, so that I didn't look so stupid."

"No, your reaction was perfect. If you'd known, it wouldn't have been real," Portia argues.

Real. That's right. If Katniss had known, we couldn't have pulled this off, as I had suspected. It would have all been fake looking, something easily spotted as a manipulation tool to win the crowds over to our advantage. They would have known that it was staged for television. But it's not staged; it is real. At least, for me. But what does that matter? I tell myself. Only Haymitch and Effie know my true intentions. Katniss doesn't think it's real, of course. Neither does anyone at home, probably. Home. My eyes widen as I remove one last big shard from my palm.

Of course. That's why she's so mad. Caesar had asked if the girl I liked already had someone else. I said I didn't know, but I do have a sneaking suspicion...

"She's just worried about her boyfriend," I mutter as I toss the shard away. I don't mean to sound bitter or jealous or anything, but I come off as sulking.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she snaps, but a betraying tinge of pink comes over her cheeks.

You have Gale. "Whatever." He ought to thank me for doing this. It's going to get her back home. My hands are on fire, stinging like mad, and it puts me in a sour mood. "But I bet he's smart enough to know a bluff when he sees it." I hate this. Why do I have to merely pretend like I have feelings for her? Just to placate her? If only I could make her understand, but I know I threw that option out of the window when I decided to be coached separately.

"Besides, you didn't say that _you_ loved _me_ , so what does it matter?" I continue. Gale won't have to worry about any of this, I want to add, but I don't. I feel drained. I just want to go lie down and sleep for forever. I don't want to argue anymore. I don't want to talk about my real or pretend feelings anymore. It hurts almost as much as my hands.

Katniss takes a deep breath and her face clears. It seems she's grasped what my true intentions are now. She is an object of love in the Capitol's eyes, someone whose fate they'll want to change, whose every movement they'll watch with bated breath; someone they'll root for. The Capitol does love its sob stories, according to Haymitch, and a tale of star-crossed lovers doomed to kill each other in the Games is the most tragic of them all. It makes me realize that my attempts to keep her alive will not just make her even more popular, it very well might turn us into martyrs of sorts. Martyrs of a doomed love.

"After he said he loved me, did you think I could be in love with him, too?" Katniss asks.

"I did," Portia answers. We all look at her. "The way you avoided the cameras, the blush."

She blushed? That was a smart move, I think. Except, it wasn't a move at all. She had no idea of what I was going to say. That blush was completely genuine.

"You're golden, sweetheart." Haymitch says. "You're going to have sponsors lined up around the block."

Which is exactly what I wanted. Katniss's eyes meet mine and this time, there's no anger there. There is shame.

"I'm sorry I shoved you," she mutters.

A part of me wants to remain severe, but I find that I'm smiling a little. "Doesn't matter," I shrug. Looking over at the urn, I can't help but add that what she did was technically illegal. I can tell that this annoys her slightly, which is amusing.

She decides to ignore my statement and asks, "Are your hands okay?"

They sting and are slightly throbbing from the pain, not to mention blood is still running from the cuts, but I just act like it's no big deal and give her more of a smile. "They'll be all right."

The look in her eye is plainly saying she doesn't believe me, but she just nods. I swear I see the hint of a smile there, too, and I find that I'm no longer irritated as we study one another. Then Haymitch suggests we all have dinner and we heartily agree, the aromas of the food beckoning us to the dining table.

I still continue to drip blood onto the carpet and I see a few drops land on the tablecloth. Portia quickly comes over to my side and urges me to come with her to the bathroom so I can get cleaned up. She then orders one of the Avoxes to get some medical equipment and we tell the others to start without us. I find I'm not all that hungry, anyway.

"I've got to hand it to you," Portia says as she turns the faucets of the sink on. "That was one of the most memorable interviews I've seen for any of the games."

I shrug and I let the water run over my hands, watching as it turns red. "Well I had to say something so they would remember me."

"It's not true...is it?" She murmurs. "It was just a stunt for the games, right?"

I just look at her and sadly smile. She understands immediately and I watch her eyes slide shut as she sighs. That is when the redheaded Avox girl appears and hands Portia a small box of medical supplies. She helps me dab my hands dry with a towel before she opens the kit and begins administering medicine to my cut hands.

"What will you do?" She asks quietly.

I flinch slightly and emit a hiss of pain. "I don't know," I admit. "But what I do know is that I want Katniss to go home."

She looks at me sadly and nods. "I'm sorry."

"It's all right," I assure her. I hold my hands out as she bandages them, not really up to talking anymore.

"You're a brave kid, Peeta," she says as she fastens the bandages. I just smile in response.

We're late to the soup course by the time we return to dinner, which doesn't bother me too much. Even sitting down and seeing the food, I find I'm still not too hungry. I do manage to peck away at the main course, though, and nibble on some bread while the others try the dessert. Then we move to the sitting room where we watch the interviews being replayed on the screen. The highlight of the evening is not only Katniss's stunning dress, but my entire few minutes with Caesar. The man himself goes over our little chat and talks about how moved he was with my final confession right before the interview ended as the footage plays behind him. They show a shot of Katniss's reaction and I'm given a glimpse of how shocked and confused she really was during my speech. One would indeed think she might even harbor some hidden feelings with the way she blushes, but I try hard not to dwell on that.

The program ends too soon. The national anthem brings it to a close and soon the television shuts off. I no longer see Caesar's shining smile on the screen, wishing us all a good luck. May the odds be ever in our favor. Time is ticking away now, each hour passing quickly until the dawn of tomorrow comes, when the two of us will be sent to our deaths.

We all sit there. No one really knows what to say at first, until Effie takes a deep breath and rises to her feet with the jingling of her evening jewelry.

"Well. I suppose this is it. You two need to get some rest for tomorrow, after all."

Tomorrow. Right. Starting tomorrow, we won't see either Effie or Haymitch. They'll be sent to the game center where they'll do their best to garner sponsors for us. And while Cinna and Portia are allowed to stay with us up until the end, this is the time to say our final goodbyes.

Katniss and I stand up and Effie grasps each of our hands.

"And I must say," she says, blinking rapidly. Is she becoming teary-eyed? "That you two have been some of the best tributes I've had the privilege to sponsor! I wish you both all the best!" Sniffing, she kisses us both on the cheek and then takes a moment to collect herself.

"I wouldn't be surprised if I'm promoted to a higher district next year, thanks to you two!" She says brightly. I sigh a little and wish her the best in return. Really, it's the only thing I have the energy to say.

Haymitch approaches us next.

"Any final words of advice for us?" I ask.

His face is grim. "When the gong sounds, get the Hell out of there. You're neither of you up to the bloodbath at the Cornucopia. Just clear out, put as much distance as you can between yourselves and the others and find a source of water. Got it?"

I nod. Apparently he really has given up the idea of allying with any other tributes. That's fine. I never liked the idea, anyway.

"And after that?" Katniss asks.

"Stay alive." He's not meaning it as a joke this time, and we don't take it that way. After all, there's no predicting the best way to survive in this arena. No one has any idea what it'll even be. Looking at Haymitch, I know that he does not and cannot know anything else he could say that might help.

Katniss nods, lets out a goodbye, and leaves for her room. As for me, I decide to linger for just a little longer, as if the longer I stay awake, the more it will detain tomorrow from coming. It's not true, as I well know, and I tell myself I need to get some sleep. I glance over at Portia, who is watching me carefully.

"I guess you'll be the one who's going to wake me up bright and early tomorrow?" I ask.

She nods. "You'll be given your arena clothes after we arrive."

"Got it." I pause before turning to Haymitch and Effie. "Thanks for your help with the interview. I don't think I could have pulled it off as well as I did without you two."

Effie sniffles and just nods while Haymitch shakes his head. "Just at least try to survive, kid. Don't do anything stupid."

I can't help but smile. That's the exact same thing Roy told me before I left home.

"And you take care of her. Keep an eye on her. Please," I add. He hesitates before he nods, knowing exactly who I'm talking about.

With a grateful smile, I turn to head to my bedroom. Once the door is shut behind me, the suit comes off. Soon, the shimmering clothing is draped over the table and chairs by the window and I decide to take one more shower, hoping the warm water will make me tired. Instead, the shower only makes me feel more alert and all I can think of is tomorrow as I dress for bed.

Images from the previous games begin to haunt me. The different arenas, the gruesome deaths, the terrifying Capitol-made creatures called mutts that tore tributes apart; it all spins around in my mind and I can't control my pounding heart. I wish I could wake up and realize that this was all just a horrible nightmare. I wish I was back at home, watching my father pounding away at dough, hearing Cain teasing me for something stupid I did, listening to Roy plucking away at a small violin that he taught himself to play between shifts. I would even endure verbal abuse from my mother over some fault she finds in me if it meant I could go home.

My thoughts remain with my family and I wonder what they are doing at this moment. They're probably already asleep, or at least preparing for bed. I wonder what my brothers feel when they look over and see my empty bed by theirs. I wonder what expressions are on their faces. Mother is probably fast asleep, though. After all, as I had surmised from the beginning, my absence would be the least missed around the shop. But what about my father? Does he sleep as easily as she probably does? If not, I hope he gets some sleep, at least. The bakery opens early in the morning and he's still the one who carries most of the load for us. I can recall some nights when I awoke from bad dreams, I would see him sitting in the kitchen, just staring out the window or reading. Maybe he's doing that now. And if so, is he thinking about me, and about the fact that he'll never see me again?

It's true, I think as I lay my hand over my eyes. I will never see my father again. I'm going to die. Maybe not tomorrow, or maybe even not the next day, but I don't expect to last for too long. And even if I did, if it just came down to Katniss and me... I don't think that I could ever see her as cold-blooded or heartless, but she has more to lose than me. She made a promise to Primrose.

I look over at the clock and I realize it's late, later than I usually stay up. That's not saying much, since I do usually wake up early, but it's discouraging. I know I need sleep. I just can't seem to find it. My thoughts keep going from worrying about tomorrow to missing home. With a sigh, I sit up and push the covers aside. I'm not going to fall asleep anytime soon, and I suddenly feel restless. I just want to be doing something so I'm not just dwelling on tomorrow.

Slowly and quietly, I open my door and peer out. The hallway is silent and dark. Trying my utmost not to disturb anyone, I shut the door slowly and head out past the dining room and sitting room to the door leading to the roof. Sitting outside in the night air will be refreshing, I tell myself. I might be able to collect my thoughts this way.

As soon as I'm outside, everything is different. I can hear the citizens of the Capitol from down below, playing music and singing. Bright lights flash against the sides of the buildings and when I peer down to see the source of all the commotion, I watch as several performers dance and flip around. They're all having a party while the rest of us are struggling to find peace of mind so we can at least try to sleep. It's mind-boggling. Well at least the walls and windows are soundproof, I think.

I lean against the railing, holding my bandaged hands out before me, and watch the festivities, as if hypnotized. What must it be like to be one of them, someone who glorifies the death of kids; kids who are probably the same ages as some of their own, no less? Are they really that ignorant? Did they become so brainwashed that they lost all sort of empathy for those who are less fortunate or different from them? What sort of despicable lies did President Snow and his government teach them?

My thoughts are interrupted when someone behind me says, "You should be getting some sleep."

Her voice makes me jump slightly. I honestly hadn't expected to see her until tomorrow in the arena, when we are running for our lives. Shaking my head, I keep my eyes on the dancing crowds.

"I didn't want to miss the party. It's for us, after all," I mutter.

Katniss joins me at the railing and I see her out of the corner of my eye leaning over to look at the crowds down below. I notice she has her hair falling loosely around her face in rich dark waves, the lights from below giving her a soft glow. It's a nice sight to see: my last glimpse of a Katniss who doesn't view me as an enemy.

"Are they in costumes?" She queries, watching the dancers.

I lightly scoff. "Who can tell, with all the crazy clothes they wear here." I glance over at her again. "Couldn't sleep either?"

"Couldn't turn my mind off," she answers.

I know the feeling. "Thinking about your family?"

She averts her eyes. "No... All I can do is wonder about tomorrow." She sighs. "Which is pointless, of course."

I nod a little. It is pointless, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't worry about it. Fear of death or of killing people is a normal and natural thing, I want to tell her. I'm about to when I notice she's looking at my bandaged hands.

"I am really sorry about your hands," she says earnestly. I can tell she is by the look in her eyes and I shake my head.

"It doesn't matter, Katniss," I assure her. "I've never been a contender in these games anyway."

She frowns slightly. "That's no way to be thinking."

"Why not?" I counter. "It's true." I'm not going to let you be the one who dies, I think. Taking a deep breath, I continue. "My best hope is to not disgrace myself and..." I stop, not sure if I should say what's next on my mind.

"And what?" She presses.

I tilt my head to scratch it a little. It makes my hand sting. "I don't know how to say it exactly. Only..." I pause again, thinking back to the other day. Haymitch had asked me if I had a death wish. While that's not true, when it comes to dying, there is one thing I do wish for.

"I want to die as myself. Does that make any sense?" I ask her. When she shakes her head no, I explain further. "I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not." Like the boy who became a cannibal, I think. The boy who began eating people for both survival and pleasure, who became so crazy the Capitol bumped him off.

"Do you mean you won't kill anyone?" She asks.

"No. When the time comes, I'm sure I'll kill just like everybody else," I answer. Especially if it comes to saving her. "I can't go down without a fight." Then I sigh, feeling a bit defeated. "Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to...to show the Capitol they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games," I confess. I'm hoping that my sacrifice to get Katniss home will do the trick. I would be dying on my own terms, not theirs. I don't tell her that, though.

"But you're not," she reasons quietly. "None of us are. That's how the Games work."

That doesn't offer much comfort, nor does she seem to really understand. Me, her, all of us; we've all been pawns in the hands of the Capitol for so long. We've endured seeing innocent lives being thrown to the slaughter for spectators' pleasure. When will it end, though? Can't we show them somehow that we are more than just toys? That we are human beings too, who deserve to be treated decently, without having to live in starvation and fear? Can't we make them see that we have free will and have the right to choose how to live and how to die?

"Okay, but within that framework," I answer, "there's still _you_. There's still _me_. Don't you see?" I almost plead.

"A little. Only.." She shrugs. "No offense, but who cares, Peeta?"

I frown. That is not the answer I was hoping for. Not that I was hoping she would agree and decide that dying for a cause would be the best way to go, but I did hope she would at least, well, care. I hoped she would see that we as tributes could make a difference, however small it would be, in showing the Capitol that not everyone wants to play by their rules. But, like she says, who cares? Who cares if someone dies a noble death or sacrifices themselves? It'll all just be swept under the rug and the Capitol will continue hosting the Games. Nothing will change. Who cares?

"I do," I say firmly. "I mean, what else am I allowed to care about at this point?" I look her full in the face. Yes, even if I do die and no one notices much, at least I did something. I at least had some purpose before departing this earth. I'll have nothing else to give, but this small act of defiance in choosing my own death might leave a mark somewhere, on someone.

Either my words or my angry tone of voice makes her uncomfortable. It could also be the fact that I've embraced my doom so readily, because she says, "Care about what Haymitch says. About staying alive." She steps away from me.

Staying alive. That's nice, how she seems a bit concerned. Only, that won't work in my case. I just smile, thinking of how relieved and exhausted she will be when she becomes the sole victor of the games.

"Okay. Thanks for the tip, sweetheart," I answer mockingly.

Her eyes widen and she glares at me. "Look, if you want to spend the rest of your life planning some noble death in the arena, that's your choice. I want to spend mine in District Twelve."

Maybe she's trying to goad me into thinking that my whole dying for a cause idea is ridiculous and that I should be focused on going home. Maybe she's just thinking that I'm being superior. Whatever the case, I highly doubt she would like the idea of my dying for her. She would probably think I was still trying to one-up her on something.

"Wouldn't surprise me if you do," I can't help but say. You're the survivor after all, I think.

 _Maybe District Twelve will finally have a Victor again._

I think of my mother's words and a bit of resentment rushes over me again. I turn away from her to look at the crowds down below. "Give my mother my best when you make it back, will you?" I bitterly say. Knowing her, she would probably be happier to see Katniss back instead of me. That's just the cruel irony of my life.

"Count on it," she shoots back. She then stomps away and in a matter of seconds, I'm alone on the roof again. I stay out there for a little while longer, lost in my thoughts while listening to the party as it continues. I really should get some sleep, though, I tell myself. There's no point in prolonging the inevitable. Tomorrow is going to come whether I want it to or not, so with a deep breath, I push myself away from the railing and go back inside to my room.

Once again, sleep will not come quickly. I'm like Katniss, unable to switch my mind off so I can calm down. I keep thinking about my chances in the Games. Did I train hard enough? What will be my first move in escaping from the bloodbath? How am I going to help Katniss, and how can I make it so that people will want to sponsor us due to our supposed love? My mind keeps going back to Haymitch's idea. I still don't like it, but I do grudgingly admit, teaming up with the Career tributes would indeed give me an advantage. I would have access to all the food and weapons, and that in itself is a tempting notion. There's even the possibility of leading them off of Katniss's scent for a while if I gain their trust. They could potentially see me as someone who is also trying to hunt her down, so they would potentially use me to get to her. I wouldn't be surprised if they even thought I knew her secret skill - which I do - and tried to use me to get that information as well.

Maybe that would really be my best option, I tell myself, just keeping everyone away from Katniss until she's one of the few left, instead of trying to defend her myself. Even so, I'm no closer to having a real solution to my dilemma of helping Katniss in the Games even as I fall asleep.

When Portia wakes me up the next morning, it feels like I've only been asleep for an hour. It can't be tomorrow already, I think as I feel her hand shaking me gently, but as I slowly sit up, I notice the time on the clock. Yes, it is indeed the day of the Games. I can feel my stomach drop and I almost feel nauseous.

Portia doesn't say much as she watches me slowly rise from the bed. There really isn't much to say and she knows it. She just gives me a tshirt and some sweat pants to wear before I go to use the bathroom. I decide to brush my teeth and wash my face, this being the last time I'll be able to do both of these things, most likely. I don't care about my pajamas and leave them lying on the floor. Now dressed, I join Portia again, who leads me out of my bedroom and up to the roof. There, a hovercraft hovers in the air, awaiting our arrival.

I watch as a ladder lowers down towards us. With guidance from Portia, I reach up to grasp it while the mental picture of the Avox girl being ensnared by a net very similar floats through my mind. I'm brought back to reality, however, when I feel a surge of electricity throughout my body starting from my fingertips and down to my toes. It's not much, but it leaves me with a tingling sensation. In the meantime, I'm stuck to the ladder as it lifts me up and into the hovercraft. Once inside, the electrical current of the ladder continues to hold me captive and I watch a woman in white approach me, holding a syringe.

"Hold still, please, while I insert this tracker into your arm," she says. "The stiller you are, the easier it will be for both of us."

There's a sharp sting and a slight achiness afterwards from the needle she inserts into my inner forearm. To my credit, I don't flinch or wince or anything. Then the ladder releases me and I'm free to walk around the hovercraft until a young Avox male directs me to an open room where breakfast is laid out. Portia soon joins me and gently urges me to try to eat, despite how nervous she knows I'm feeling. As we sit there, I decide to study my arm where the needle was inserted and I can feel a small square indentation right under the skin.

"It's to track your whereabouts in the arena," Portia murmurs.

I nod. Makes sense, I think as I try to get a couple bites of eggs down. I know I should eat and I try to swallow a cup of juice as well. I hardly taste any of it, though and I watch the sky flying past us as we glide along.

I wonder how far away the arena is. It seems we're traveling some distance from the Training Center. I then wonder how Katniss is faring. Is she just quietly awaiting her arrival as I am, frozen like a statue as she takes everything in? Perhaps she is like a caged animal, nervously watching everyone and everything until they let her loose into the arena. Whichever it may be, I can't help but worry about her.

I feel Portia rub my back soothingly and I take a deep breath. I just want this ride to be over.

"How are you feeling..?" She asks quietly.

I let out a humorless laugh. "Terrified."

She sighs. "Yeah, I guess that was a stupid question.."

Pushing the plate away, I shake my head. "No, it's all right. You're just worried about me."

"I am," she agrees. "I'm also worried about what you're going to do once the Games start. I know you want to save Katniss, but I don't want to see you throw your life away."

She now has my full attention and I turn to look at her. "I won't do that. I'm not going to go down without a fight," I promise.

With a sigh, she nods. "I guess that's the best I can ask for." She pats my back and we both fall silent again. After about ten to twenty minutes or so, one of the workers on the hovercraft approaches to inform us that we're going to arrive in a couple of minutes. I feel my heart begin to pound and my stomach drop at the same time.

We're directed to the ladder, and I once again feel the current run through me as I latch onto the rungs. I'm lowered down not onto land, but down into a dark, cylindrical tunnel. I see black walls around me, and if I wasn't stuck to the ladder, I could probably reach out and touch them. Once Portia and I both are back on our feet, she leads me in the direction of the final chamber: a room where I will prepare for the arena. Portia calls it the Launch Room, but I've heard people back at home call it the Stockyard.

The chamber has a bathroom, the last place to clean yourself up or do your business in before the arena. I decide I might as well shower one more time, not really to be clean, but just to do it. I then dry my hair with a towel and Portia combs through it before producing a bag that I assume has my clothes. Silently, she hands me each item and I dress myself. My outfit consists of warm undershorts, brown pants with a green tshirt, as well as a belt and a black jacket that has a hood. Portia says it will help radiate heat, despite how thin it appears. She also says it's water resistant. All I can think is that I'm probably going to face a few cold nights in the near future. At least I learned how to make a fire.

The last things I'm given are woolen socks and heavy boots. Once I'm fully dressed, Portia suggests I walk around to make sure everything fits properly. Obeying her orders, I take a few steps, waving my arms around and even jogging in place for a minute or so. She nods.

"Seems good. Now all we can do is wait for the call."

She pats a seat next to her on a nearby couch and I sit down on the edge. I'm suddenly restless. My hands are shaking, my knees knocking together. I jiggle my leg now and again as I stare at the linoleum floor.

"Do you want to try to eat anything?" She asks in her soft voice.

I shake my head. "But I think I could do with a glass of water," I answer. I should stay hydrated.

Portia gets up, pours me a glass of water from a crystal pitcher and brings it back to me. I thank her quietly but make no attempt to say anything else as I sip the cool water slowly. I can practically feel her eyes watching me but I just can't bring myself to try to be pleasant or friendly or anything; not when the images of kids lying dead from previous bloodbaths fill my mind.

"Peeta."

I jump a little from the sudden sound of my name. Glancing over at Portia, I see her smile. She raises her hand and brushes some hair out of my eyes. It calms me down a little. Of all the people who could be sitting here with me right now, I'm glad it's her. She's been almost like a big sister to me. Heck, she's even acted as more of a mother at certain times than my actual mother.

"Thank you for everything, Portia," I say quietly.

"It's the least I can do," she replies, continuing to rub my head. It keeps me calm and I close my eyes for a moment. Then we hear a voice announcing that it's time for launch and all my anxiety returns. I keep a tight hold on Portia's hand as we walk over to an elevated circular platform where I have to stand. With that platform, I will be lifted up into the arena.

"Remember what Haymitch said," she speaks again. "Run. Find water. Avoid the others, at least for today."

I nod. "You got it. Well, wish me luck..." I try to joke a little and work up a bit of a smile.

Portia smiles back and gives me a hug. "I'm rooting for you." She whispers before stepping back. I slowly let go of her hand, wishing I could step off of this platform and walk away with her. But no, I'm rooted where I stand.

My last glimpse before I'm shot up to the arena is of Portia with tears in her eyes and that smile still on her face. I smile back and nod at her before the floor begins to move. Once again, I'm surrounded by blackness and Portia vanishes from my sight. I touch the smooth walls of the cylinder as I move, just to hold onto something. I needn't worry about falling though, I'm in such a tight space. Suddenly, I hear a sound of mechanical doors opening and spy a sliver of light above me. I'm almost outside in the arena.

The first thing that hits me is the fresh smell of home. Pine trees. I begin to think forests and my suspicions are justified when the arena appears before my eyes. Not too far away, I spy the lush green color of trees.

I only get a moment to observe my surroundings, however, because a second afterwards the voice of who I can only surmise to be Claudius Templesmith resounds across the arena:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, let the Seventy-Fourth Hunger Games begin!"


	10. Chapter 10

I have to think fast. We have only sixty seconds to brace ourselves before the gong sounds, indicating the start of the games. My eyes dart around to get a bearing on the arena. It seems that we are all standing on a wide plain of dirt and at its center stands the Cornucopia, a large golden structure of metal that is shaped like a horn. In its gaping mouth is every weapon and item that you could ask for to survive out here. Beyond that is a lake to my left. Ahead of me, I see nothing but sky, which makes me wonder if there is a cliff or perhaps a hill leading to shelter down below.

But what of the scent of pine I had noticed first off? It seems that behind me and to my right is a stretch of forests that travels almost all around the arena. It's no wonder that our outfits consist of browns and greens. They could make for good camouflage.

Forty seconds to go. I look around at the ring of tributes until I spy Katniss, five platforms away from me on my right. No doubt she will head for cover in the woods and I know that is where I must head as well. As I continue to watch her, I notice she has her eye trained on something, something at the Cornucopia. That's when I notice the silver bow and pack of arrows casually leaning against a crate of apples.

Not good, I think. It's not just coincidence that those are sitting there right in front of her. They know how good she is with a bow. It's tempting, but she mustn't go for it. She can't risk the initial slaughter that's about to happen. I keep my eyes fixed on her, hoping that she'll look at me at least once.

Ten seconds left. Suddenly, Katniss glances over at me and my heart begins to pound. I need to somehow convey to her that she must not go for that bow. As best as I can, without catching anyone else's attention, I shake my head slightly at her. No. Don't even try it. You'll die if you try to get that bow.

Then the gong goes off and suddenly everything is happening all at once. I tear my gaze away from Katniss when I see the other tributes leap off of their disks and I almost forget to move, myself. Everywhere, kids are running in all directions. Some of the smarter ones vanish into the woods. Others head for the Cornucopia, only to be struck down by someone else. I make a dash for the right, hoping to see Katniss before I vanish into the trees. She's not too far off from where she first stood, scrambling over a small orange knapsack with the boy from Nine before he falls down dead, with a knife in his back. Clove from District Two is bearing down on her fast, wanting to take her out before she can get away with any supplies.

I can just hear Haymitch screaming at me in frustration at what I do next, but I don't care. I dash over in Clove's direction, wanting to stop her before she reaches Katniss. She doesn't even see me coming. I'm only a few yards away from her before the boy from Four collides into me, knocking me down. He's got a bag of supplies strapped over his back and is holding a knife. He dives towards me and I dodge him as quickly as I can, rolling to the right as his arm descends. Then I rush to my feet just as he lunges for me again, throwing myself back from each slash of his knife. At that moment, a sharp pain in my arm floods all my senses and my hand instinctively grasps it. The boy was able to graze me along the bicep and I turn just in time to see him coming at me again. The knife is in mid air just as I grasp his wrist and we struggle, teeth clenched, eyes bulging. He tries to push his hand down and I try to move it away, which takes a good amount of strength to do so. My attacker seems to be around my age, and is quite strong for someone so lean.

My arm is screaming, throbbing in pain, and I feel the warm blood running down. I don't falter, though. I need to get to Katniss, and this guy is in the way. Clove could have stabbed her in the back and I wouldn't have known it. Mustering all of my strength, I finally get the upper hand and twist the boy's arm until I have him crying out in pain. His grip on the knife loosens and it falls to the ground. Shoving him away, I pick it up and face him again, only to see him running. That's fine with me, and I turn to see Katniss disappearing into the woods, a knife stuck in the orange backpack.

Fear overwhelms me and I make a dash in that same direction. This is not how I hoped things would go. If I don't catch up with her, who knows when I'll find her again? She could be killed at any time and I wouldn't know it. I wouldn't be there to stop it. I'm just steps away from the tree line when I hear shouts in my direction.

"There he is! He's going after the girl!"

Marvel is coming at me fast, arm outstretched with a spear in hand, ready to throw. When he does, it's almost as if in slow motion, like what we see during playbacks of previous Games when they want to show a particularly gruesome death. I duck and hear it hit a tree behind me with a sharp metal _clang!_ This doesn't deter him, however and he's soon on top of me, kicking the knife out of my hand. I know I can't let him get a hold of it and I use the only weapons I have left, my fists. I land a few good blows to his face and he decks me a couple good ones as well. But as I told both Katniss and Portia, I won't go down without a fight. I bunch my legs up under Marvel and kick him hard in the gut, pushing him off of me. While he's lying there doubled over, I scramble for the knife only to look up and see the other Careers coming towards us.

My situation begins to look dire. I see no other tributes nearby, all either dead or fled into the woods. Marvel is getting up behind me, blocking my access to the trees. Cato, Glimmer, Clove and the girl from Four are coming at me in all directions. With an aching face and a bleeding arm, I push myself up onto my feet, gripping the knife and trying to keep an eye on all five of them. They don't look too worried as they circle me, like predators surrounding their prey.

"I can kill him and get it over with," Clove suggests, brandishing one of her many knives.

"Yeah, let's do it quick so we can get moving," Marvel agrees, spitting blood out onto the grass.

"Hold on. I want to see what he'll do," Cato orders. He steps forward and I brace myself for an attack. It comes soon enough. One, two, three! He attacks in three strikes with his short sword, which I deflect with my knife. Fortunately, the boy from Four had picked up a larger hunting knife.

Cato steps back and chuckles. "Well, look at that. Lover boy's got some fight in him."

That name provokes me, as sweetheart provoked Katniss. "Why don't you actually fight me, instead of just fooling around? I'll show you how much fight I've really got."

A flicker of anger appears in his eyes. He laughs a little and cracks his neck. "You asked for it."

I crouch down a little as he saunters towards me. While I keep my attention focused on him, I hear the girl from Four sigh in exasperation.

"This is stupid. Just kill him and get it over with. You wanted to go after Katniss, and now we're wasting time!"

"Shut up. I'll kill him soon enough."

Katniss. That's right. Of course she would be their main target. I grip my knife. I can't die here and let them get to her. I have to figure out a way to stop them. But five to one? How am I supposed to do that?

 _You could make allies with the other tributes..._

I don't want to do it. I don't want to follow through with Haymitch's idea. But with an angry Cato coming at me ready to strike, what else can I do? Cato charges in for the attack and I do my best to deflect each hit. When he swings, I attempt to block him, but no matter how hard I try, it's clear that he's better than me. His next blow makes me stumble and I receive a sound kick in the shin. It's all I can do to keep standing, even though my leg feels like jelly. The sword comes down again and I use both hands to block it with my knife. The impact of the blades colliding sends a jolt through my arms and they begin to shake.

"So it's Katniss you want, huh?" I mutter between clenched teeth.

Cato smirks. "'Fraid so, lover boy. Nothing you can do about it."

"You know how to find her?" I remark. My arms are beginning to ache now, especially my wounded one.

He begins to frown. "We'll manage."

"Well I know her. Trust me, it'll take you a while to track her down if you don't know what you're doing."

"What are you getting at?" He demands.

My knees are starting to buckle. "All I'm saying is," I pant, "you don't want to kill me. I'm your best bet at finding her."

He snorts in derision. "You? You think I'm gonna listen to you? How do I know you won't try to kill us? Don't you have _feelings_ for her or something?" He asks mockingly.

With every ounce of strength I have left, I hold my ground. My feet shift a little, so that I'm putting both my weight and Cato's onto one leg. Of course, it has to be my bad leg; the one he's kicked. I feel tears gathering in the corners of my eyes.

"I do. So what?" I reply through clenched teeth. "Do you see Katniss around here? It's not like she's gonna show up to save me or anything. We both knew how this would end anyway. Besides, you think I have a chance against the five of you? If I try to pull anything, you all can kill me fast enough."

Doubt comes over his face and he stares at me, as if trying to gauge just exactly what I'm thinking. I hope he makes his mind up soon, because I don't know how much longer I can hold myself under his weight. My leg feels like it's going to give in at any minute. Suddenly, the girl from Four speaks again.

"He's got a point, Cato. Plus, what's one more set of hands? He can help us get rid of the others."

Cato glances at her for a moment before looking back at me. After a minute of contemplation, he shoves me hard, causing me to finally fall to the ground. I grip my leg, trying to see if anything was broken. No, it's probably just bruised, I decide, but it's going to hurt walking on it for a while.

"Fine," he growls. He then points to her with his sword. "But you're gonna be in charge of him if he acts up." She just shrugs in response and doesn't look at me as I struggle to get back on my feet. I watch as the five of them head for the Cornucopia.

Well that's that, I tell myself. I've made allies with the Careers. Oh I can just imagine the faces of the people I know back at home. At least Cain might be impressed. I know Roy would not be. As for Haymitch, I hope he's happy. This is not what I wanted, but at least I know I'll be alive for another day.

I join them at the golden horn and get an eyeful of all the goods that are spread out and around it: weapons, blankets, sleeping bags, extra clothes, first aid kits, and even things that aren't as necessary like bug repellent or sunglasses. As for food, of course there's all sorts: fruits, meats, bread, vegetables and more. The tributes that could get their hands on these supplies would be set for the entire games.

As I poke around looking at everything, I hear someone calling out to me. It's Cato, who apparently has established himself as some sort of leader.

"Hey Twelve! Get over here!"

A part of me wants to ignore him, to just flat out defy any orders he thinks he has the right to give. But I don't want to start a fight right away. I have to stay alive at least for a little while. With a sigh, I drop what I can only assume is a folded up tent and limp my way over to the five of them. They are standing right in front of the Cornucopia, looking like they own the thing.

"What?" I ask when I approach them.

Cato folds his arms across his chest. "You wanna team up with us, you gotta prove your worth. You say you can help us find Katniss. We'll see about that soon. You also seem to know how to use a weapon. You good for anything else?"

I know what he's asking. He wants to know if I can really kill someone. I don't like this. It feels like I'm back at school and I've just joined the gang of bullies, but with a twist. Still, what's done is done.

I've got to prove my worth, huh? Well, might as well tell them. It's not like I thought my skill was worth that much anyways. Shrugging, I say, "Well, I guess I'm strong."

"Strong?" Marvel snorts.

I nod. "I'll show you."

I spy a large crate full of apples and decide to start with that. It looks heavy enough. I lift it with ease and carry it over to them. Then for a few minutes, I continue to exhibit my strength as I pick up and toss several different objects that would usually take two people to carry. My sore leg and wounded arm don't approve, but I do my best to ignore them. I'm in the process of tossing around a couple of watermelons when Cato decides that he's seen enough.

"All right, we get it. Enough already," he grumbles. As I wipe the sweat from my forehead I notice something pass over his face. Could it perhaps be he's slightly intimidated? Whatever the case, he shrugs it off quickly enough and barks out orders to start collecting supplies.

My guard, the girl from Four, orders me to help gather the food together. Since I'm _so very_ strong, she says dryly, I should be the best person for the job. Once again, I try to ignore my leg, which aches more than ever now, as well as my arm and face as we make a huge pile of it, stacking crates and barrels, and putting sacks on top. Cato then says the three of us boys should make some makeshift shelters with the gear we find, in case we want to sleep here. As I'm doing this, I notice Glimmer tugging someone over by the arm. It's the boy from Three, who had apparently been hiding among the supplies. I grip the blanket I have in my hand, awaiting the moment when they'll take his life, but it doesn't happen. Instead, Cato, towering over him, hands him a shovel and says only one thing to him.

"You know what to do."

The boy quickly nods and runs off to our platforms where we were first standing. He then begins to dig.

"Here. Put this in the weapons pile," the girl from Four orders me. She shoves the bow and arrows into my hands. I try not to think about Katniss and how much she wanted these.

"What's he doing?" I ask her, nodding to the boy from Three.

"He's digging up the landmines," she answers. She doesn't need to say more. I know what they're making him do. District Three is where most of Panem's technology comes from. They manufacture items such as televisions, computers, radios, and more, including landmines. Being from Three, the boy would have learned how to work all sorts of electric equipment from an early age. The wiring of landmines would probably be easy for him to dismantle.

As I work in gathering all the equipment, I glance over at him now and then. He digs up the ground where each landmine is, dismantles the wiring and then plants them in spots all around our mound of food. It's a clever and deadly ruse. If any desperate tribute comes skulking around in search of food to nab, they'll be blown to bits. The idea turns my stomach.

Of course, he won't enable the mines until we've each grabbed enough food to last us for a while. We then each take a backpack to stuff them full of different equipment and food, as well as canteens full of water from the nearby lake. The girl from Four, whose name I find out is Marina, has located a filter for the water, which she uses for each of our canteens. Everyone is then assigned to different equipment for survival. Glimmer has medicines and a first aid packet. Marvel has gear to make a fire. Marina has the water filter and a compass for directions. Cato says he'll maintain the hunting (if it's needed) so he keeps rope and gear to make snares. Clove is in charge of blankets and making shelters. That leaves me, and I receive nothing, forced to rely on the compassion of the other five. At least I'm allowed to carry food and water, I tell myself.

The others are soon ready to start out on our trek to hunt down the remaining tributes. A good number already lie dead on the ground near us, their sightless eyes staring up at the sky. Blood pools on the grass. I sit there to rest my aching leg and stare at their lifeless forms while the others debate on where to start. The dead are usually carried away by a hovercraft, but only after a while when there isn't anyone around them. So there they lie, ignored and uncared for. I want to look away but I can't. That is, until a throbbing sensation in my arm brings me back to the present. I remove my jacket to see a long line of red on my upper right arm. It doesn't look too deep.

"You'd better patch that up," Marina remarks.

I nod and get up to ask Glimmer for some bandages. She pauses and glances at Cato, who just shrugs. With that consent, I suppose she deems it safe to help me. I thank her quietly and wrap my arm as tightly as I can, tying the ends of the gauze together. It's not much, but it'll hopefully be enough for now.

"All right. Gear up and let's move out," Cato barks. We all shoulder our packs, grab weapons and stand in attention, like a small army. Before he turns to the woods, he points his sword at the boy from Three.

"Stay here. Don't let anyone get the food," he tells him, to which the boy just nods in reply. Then he turns his attention to me.

"Okay, lover boy. You know the best way to find her, so you lead."

I nod and turn to the forest. So it begins, I think. This is how I will save Katniss. I'm going to try to lead them in the opposite direction that she went. We walk into the shadow of the trees and begin our trek, while I act as if I have any idea what I'm looking for. The others don't seem to notice just how clueless I am as they meander around talking and swinging their weapons carelessly. Marina walks beside me quietly and at times I catch her watching me. I try not to show it, but she makes me nervous. If she catches on to what I'm doing - or not doing - I know I'm in trouble. There's nothing I can do about her, though. I can only hope she stays oblivious or silent. I knew I was taking a risk in joining up with these five, so all I can do is keep the act up.

A half-hour or so into our march, we begin to hear the cannons. One by one, they go off, signaling the deaths of each tribute for the day. I count them as we walk, now falling back for the others to take over the lead. Eleven dead, apparently. I think of Katniss and grip my knife by the hilt. Did she make it into the woods safely? Is she wandering around here somewhere, starving or dying from thirst? How I long to know that she's at least breathing.

"Please, let her be alive," I mutter to myself. Luckily, no one is close enough to hear me say that, but I keep my mouth shut for the rest of the day.

We continue walking through the trees until sundown. Then we set up camp under some trees with Marvel making only a small fire for some warmth as we unroll our sleeping bags. It's sure to be cool that night so Clove disperses some blankets. Cato then assigns night watches to each of us. He and Clove go first, followed by me and Marina with Glimmer and Marvel going last. Of course, we go in pairs since he says we can't be certain if any of us will try to kill the others in the night. He says that while looking at me but I just ignore him and bury myself in the sleeping bag. But before I drift off to sleep, I hear the anthem of Panem echoing in the night and look up to the sky. Amidst the trees, we see the Capitol Seal, followed by the first faces of those who died this day.

My heart begins to pound in my chest and I slowly sit up. Katniss. Has she made it through the first day? Will I see her face in the sky? One by one the faces of the tributes flash by, starting with District Three. Then the boy from Four, which gets my attention. I suppose he was killed after our scuffle. The boy from Five appears followed with both tributes from Six and Seven. Then comes the boy from Eight, both from Nine and the girl from Ten. I grip the sleeping bag. Is that all? I count them up and almost fall back on the ground in relief. Yes, that is the eleven dead. Katniss is still alive. I lay back down in the sleeping bag and soon drift off to sleep, now a little more at ease that she will be around to face another day.

The sky is still dark when Marvel wakes the rest of us up.

"Get up! Come on, there's a fire!" He exclaims.

Like a pack of excited dogs, they scramble to their feet. Grabbing their weapons, they begin to head for the supposed fire. I don't follow them. I'm tired, cold and in some pain from earlier that day. Plus, I don't want to needlessly kill anyone if I can help it, so I stay in my sleeping bag. Cato looks back at me and runs up, kicking my leg, which of course, is the leg that's been aching the whole day. I wonder if he knows.

"You too. Get up. Now." He orders, gripping his sword.

I obey, albeit slowly, which of course he doesn't like. He grasps my arm and shoves me forward in the direction of the fire which I can see glimmering through the trees. The two of us run towards it and I can soon hear the sound of a girl screaming. My mind first goes to Katniss, but no. That's not right, I tell myself. Katniss wouldn't be dumb enough to make a fire in the open like this, attracting all sorts of predators.

The fire is only a half-mile or so away from our camp. When we come upon it, the other tributes are surrounding a girl lying on the ground, her arms pinned down by Glimmer and Clove. She's struggling for her life, begging and pleading for them not to kill her. Marvel, who is holding her by the legs looks up to see us approaching.

"About time. Go on and finish her off."

I hang back, not wanting to witness this. I can see the look of terror in the girl's face reflected in the fire's light. She's from District Eight and she looked like she would be one of the stronger ones. But against the five Careers, she doesn't have much of a chance. I look away as I hear her emit one more agonized scream before she falls silent. The others are cheering and congratulating Cato, who apparently was the one who did her in. Looking back now, I see them laughing. Clove has her arm around Cato's shoulders. Their victim lies motionless on her side away from the fire.

"Twelve down, eleven to go!" Glimmer proclaims, standing up and wiping her hands on her pants.

"Which shouldn't be too hard, if this is anything to go by!" Marvel chuckles. I feel like I'm going to be sick.

"Let's check her to see if she has anything," Marina says in a quiet voice. This calms the others down and they agree. Marina then glances at me and gestures for me to come over. "Help me out."

I really don't want to go near the poor girl lying there, but I have no choice. The others are watching me closely, so the two of us search her jacket and her pant pockets for anything. All she seems to have is some flint and a matchbox.

"Nothing useful," Marina remarks, pushing the girl away again. I can't help but stay hunched down for a little longer to see the girl's face. In the dim light of the fire and the flashlights the others carry, I swear that I see her eyelids flutter. My eyes widen. Is she still alive?

"Better clear out so they can get the body before it starts stinking," Cato coldly remarks. I pull away quickly, trying not to show that I notice anything amiss. Walking beside Marina we follow the others away from the small fire and the girl who made it.

"You all right?" I look up when I hear Marina speak. We look at each other and I realize that I wasn't the only one who had noticed that the girl had still been alive. I want to ask her about it, but before I can say anything, Clove stops.

"Shouldn't we have heard a cannon by now?" She remarks.

Glimmer nods. "I'd say yes. Nothing to prevent them from going in immediately."

"Unless she isn't dead," Marvel realizes. Marina and I exchange glances.

"She's dead," Cato says decidedly. "I stuck her myself."

"Then where's the cannon?" Marvel demands.

"Someone should go back. Make sure the job's done," Clove interjected as the two boys glared at each other.

"Yeah," Marvel agreed, still eyeing Cato. "We don't want to have to track her down twice."

Cato steps towards Marvel as they continue to stare each other down. I see his hand tightening around his sword.

"I say she's dead!"

Marvel grips his spear as well. Soon the two are arguing and raising their weapons. The three girls try to add in their input, and a huge fight emerges between them all. Cato, while he is the leader, is also a time bomb waiting to explode, and Marvel is the fuel to his fire. Before the two come to blows, I decide to step in and stop them. I don't know why. I suppose I could just let them kill each other off. I just don't want to see any more deaths tonight.

"We're wasting time!" I shout loud enough for them to stop. "I'll go finish her and let's move on!"

Cato and the others stare at me while Marina looks down at our shoes. Smirking, Cato shrugs.

"Go on then, lover boy," he tells me. "See for yourself."

I nod and walk back to the fire. The girl is still lying there, but I can distinctly hear sounds from her now. Gurgling, gasping and low moaning. A death rattle. Kneeling down beside her, I gently push her over on her back and her eyes flutter open. There's a slight ounce of fear in them, but mostly resignation. She knows I've come back to finish her off.

I don't want to kill her. She looks so helpless, just clutching at her neck with blood oozing through her fingers. It makes me want to cry. I brush damp strands of hair away from her white forehead and sigh.

"I'm sorry." I whisper. "I don't want to do this..."

I wish I knew her name. I wish there was something I could do for her to make her more comfortable. I wish I knew what to do for her family who is probably watching this right now. I feel something faintly clutching my arm and I see it's her other hand. Holding it, I do my best to assist her in a peaceful passing.

"Be at peace," I whisper as she takes her final breath. Her chest falls one last time and lies still. Fighting back tears, I shut her eyes with my fingers and cross her arms over her chest for when the hovercraft picks her up. I don't have time to do much else and slowly rejoin the group, my eyes dry.

"Was she dead?" Cato asks.

"No. But she is now," I say calmly. The cannon goes off to justify my statement. Then I turn back to look at them and merely say, "Ready to move on?"


	11. Chapter 11

I've survived through the first day, and as much as I hate to admit it, I owe my survival to my decision to team up with the Careers. I tell myself that it's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm just being resourceful, like Haymitch suggested. Even so, I can't help but think of the others and how they're struggling to survive right now without the provisions the six of us have. It makes me feel miserable, like I'm cheating in some way.

I keep seeing that girl's face when I close my eyes. I can still hear her screaming for mercy. The sound of her gasping her last breaths. While I technically wasn't the one who murdered her, her death still haunts me. I was the only one there to see the life leave her eyes before I closed them. Even if I'm not the one who brutally killed her, I know she'll never leave me.

The second day in the arena crawls along as we continue to plod our way through the brush and undergrowth of the forest. No other tributes have been spotted so far and I begin to fear that the others will soon get restless for another kill. All the while, Marina continues to walk beside me, still acting as my silent guard, keeping me under close surveillance. I don't trust her and she doesn't trust me, but she doesn't worry me as much as the other four. She doesn't seem as brutish and bloodthirsty.

We make camp to eat a light lunch in the afternoon and while the four sit with each other, I keep to myself somewhat. Of course, Marina is a couple feet away from me and she looks at me once in a while as we silently chew our food. Doing my best to ignore her, I observe the other four from a short distance. What is it like to be in their shoes? Do they feel even the least bit of remorse for hunting down and slaughtering kids their own age or younger? Do they honestly like killing?

My eyes turn to Glimmer. She's a pretty girl, appealing even without all the Capitol makeup and fancy clothing. What did she do in District One besides training for the Games? What are her tastes or hobbies? I wonder the same thing about Clove or Marvel. Do they have families; siblings? Are they hoping that winning will help those they know back at home? Do they even have to worry about supporting their families? Probably not, I surmise. Their fathers probably have desk jobs or something; their mothers probably don't even have to work. And what about the possibility of dying? Are they afraid to die? Could that be one of the reasons why they so viciously fight to win?

I hear Cato loudly laugh about something, looking confident and domineering as usual. And what about him? What goes on in his head? Like the rest of them, he was probably brought up being taught that participating in the Games is respectable, and winning them the greatest honor to achieve. There have been tributes from both One and Two that have volunteered for these very reasons. Not only that, but District Two is the pet of the Capitol, where most of the wealth is located. Were both Cato and Clove pressured to try their hardest to win? Winning the Games for the wealthy districts means prestige and even more wealth. Maybe that's what their families are longing for, and what are a few dead tributes to the approval and love of family? From that point of view, I can almost understand what might be the motive of those four that sit there laughing together, safe in the knowledge that they have the upper hand in most everything.

Then my gaze moves to Marina. District Four is also favored by the Capitol, for whatever reasons. Maybe it's because they live by the sea, their industry being mostly seafood and other nautical tools. I've also heard that citizens of the Capitol like to vacation there, to swim in the waves during the summertime while the locals continue to trudge through the daily grind. That being said, I wonder just how much love there really is between Four and the Capitol. Marina doesn't seem to care about winning as much, nor does she possess the arrogance that the others do. I'm sure she's just as capable of killing as the rest of the Careers, but she doesn't seem to revel in it.

I begin to wonder the same things about her as I did about the others. Does she have family watching? Did she train as much as the others probably did? Is she being pressured to win? Is she afraid to die? As I ponder this, her eyes suddenly flick up to meet my gaze. There's no point in acting like I wasn't watching her. She will have known since I was looking at her for a few good seconds.

"What are you staring at?" She demands.

I shrug. "Sorry. Wasn't meaning to. I was just thinking."

"Yeah? About what?"

"Well," I hedge. "That is, I was wondering, what is District Four like? I mean, you live by the ocean, right? How's that?"

She blinks. "Why?"

"Why?" I echo. Then I shrug again. "Because I've never been anywhere outside of Twelve. I've always wanted to see the ocean. It's so vast and huge. I guess you could say I'm fascinated with it," I smile sheepishly.

"Yeah, well, picture this," she replies, tossing her backpack aside. "You're sitting on the front porch of your house, when the sky grows dark. Suddenly, you notice the waves receding far back from the shore, further back than normal. Seconds later, everyone starts screaming because coming toward you at a hundred miles per hour is a huge wall of water that you can't outrun. And it keeps coming again and again, lasting for more than an hour while you watch from the Capitol tourist traps higher upland. When it's done, it leaves everything behind in ruins. Homes are destroyed, people dead or washed out to sea. That'll give you a good description of what life can be like in Four." Her words are harsh and she's glaring at me, but I don't shy away from her.

"That's happened to you?" I guess.

She stares down at the dirt ground below us, kicking some twigs and dead leaves around with the toe of her boot.

"A couple of times."

"And you lost your home?" I ask quietly.

She nods. "Some family too."

I can't help but look down at my hands, staring at the now dirty bandages that are still wrapped around my palms. "I'm sorry."

Marina sighs. "No, I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. You were just being curious."

At that, I look up to see her shrug her shoulders resignedly. "Four's not so bad, besides that. People from the Capitol like to vacation there."

"That's what I've heard," I reply.

"If you ever get a chance, you should visit. That is, if my description hasn't scared you off." There's a hint of a smile on her face now, and I laugh a little.

"I don't think it has. Instead, you've given me a tip of what to look for if something like that happens."

She smiles more. "Good. You would probably like it there. I mean, providing you get out of this alive..." She mutters, looking grim. The atmosphere between us darkens a little when she brings us back to the reality that we're in a fight to the death in the Games.

I sigh. "Right..." After a moment's pause, I speak again. "But who knows if that'll happen. Especially with those four.." I nod to the others.

"Yeah.. I teamed up with them during the training, only because it seemed like a good idea at the time. But now that Breck is dead.." She sighs and shrugs again.

"Did you know him?" I ask, figuring she's referring to her fellow tribute.

"We were neighbors. I wasn't best friends with him or anything, but we got along." Another pause. Then she narrows her eyes and studies me. "And you? Do you really like Katniss the way you said you did in the interview? Or was that just a bluff?"

I let out a wry chuckle. "No, it wasn't a bluff. But like Caesar says, it's bad luck."

"Guess so."

It's at this moment that the others call for us to get up. We're moving out again it seems, but I don't see the necessity of continually being on the go. If I could, I would just go into hiding and wait the games out. But then, I realize, that wouldn't make for an entertaining show. The game makers will probably draw us all out towards each other sooner or later, since watching kids hiding or walking around isn't very eventful.

As we plod along, the scenery remains the same. In front of us, behind us and all around us are trees after trees. My thoughts go to Katniss and I can imagine how easily she's probably making out in this environment. Every now and then I can hear the sound of some animal darting through the growth or a bird flying by above in the treetops. She no doubt has an endless resource of food here, and hopefully that small orange backpack she grabbed the first day had some supplies that would help her make traps or something. As I lift my canteen to my lips to take a small helping of water, I begin to wonder how she's doing on water herself. She wasn't able to head for the lake, being ambushed by Clove before fleeing into the woods. Was she able to find some sort of sustenance? I hope so. Maybe there's a river somewhere. After all, Haymitch did say our first priority was to find fresh water.

I wonder what Haymitch is doing at this moment. I can only hope that he's focusing his attention on Katniss instead of me. I'm well provided for, being with the Careers. As for her, she's alone out here in the wilderness. Maybe that was part of his angle, I realize. If one of us was safely allied with the strong Careers, they wouldn't be in much need of sponsors. And of course, I was the one who said I wasn't planning on making it out of the arena alive.

Haymitch is certainly far cleverer than we first made him out to be, alcoholism and all.

Day two in the arena is coming to a close and so far, there seems to be only one death. As we look up at the night sky and see the hologram of the Capitol seal between the treetops, I begin to think of the girl from Eight again. It's the first death I've ever witnessed, and probably not the last, I think. When her face is broadcasted up above, I know that I won't be able to get much sleep tonight. She will invade my dreams. I'm grateful for when it's my turn to take watch, since I won't be trying to sleep with her face hovering over me.

Marina is sitting with her back to me and stays silent as we stare into the dark trees and listen to the sound of the forest at night. If I was alone, it would be somewhat terrifying: huddling under a tree in perhaps a sleeping bag, not daring to light a fire in case something would find me, while listening to all sorts of sounds just a mere couple of feet away. The trees groan and creak around us as a wind stirs our hair and jackets. Crickets chirp nearby in some bushes. I think I hear an owl hooting somewhere off to my left and something quietly moving through the bushes to my right. Yes, being alone in the forest at night would be terrifying. The mind comes up with too many different things.

"Hey."

I jump nearly a foot at the sound of Marina speaking. "What?" I mutter.

"You knew she was alive, right?" She whispers.

Of all the things to bring up in the middle of the night, she goes there. I don't say anything for a while, but then I answer, "Yeah."

"Thought so. I was hoping they wouldn't notice."

"I know," I agree.

"I guess that's not how the Games work, though. We always know when someone's dead," she mutters darkly. "But, I mean, she would have died sooner or later..."

I don't want to talk about it, but I nod. "Mhm."

I catch sight of her out of the corner of my eye shifting around to look at me. "I'm surprised you volunteered to go back to her."

Resting my chin on my hand, I look up at the sky, spotting some stars amidst the leaves. "Well, better me than the others.." I murmur.

"You've got a point."

We don't say anything else for the rest of our watch, which is just as well. I don't want to keep talking about the poor, dead girl. Late into the night, when Marvel and Glimmer take over the watch and we bed back down to catch a couple more hours of sleep, I begin to wish I had something to draw with. Maybe that would help me when I think of the girl from Eight.

I'm awakened by sounds of the others arguing about something. Nothing new there, I think as I move around to sit up in the sleeping bag. I then take a moment to stretch and crack my back. Sleeping outside with nothing but a sleeping bag for cushioning against the hard ground riddled with pebbles and twigs takes its toll on me, who isn't used to any sort of outdoor lifestyle. There are much worse things to worry about, of course, and I tell myself to just grit my teeth and bear it.

"I see sleeping beauty has finally awakened!" Cato's sarcastic tone isn't hard to miss. I see him sneering at me as I rise from my spot.

"Glad you could finally join us," Marvel sardonically adds while I fish through my backpack to grab some food.

"Well what's going on?" I ask, since they all seem to be watching me.

Cato nonchalantly shifts his weight from one leg to the other. "Well, we were just wondering when you would actually do your part and help us find the girl," he drawls. He seems calm, but I can tell he's growing impatient. With only one kill yesterday, I guess my supposition that they would become restless is true.

"Well, it's not like I have a tracker on her or anything," I grouse out.

"But you know her, you said," Clove interjected. "So what would she do out here?"

I munch on a granola bar to give me time. I don't want to give them too much information. Plus, a sneaking suspicion tells me that sooner or later, they'll try to worm out of me the secret skill Katniss possesses that gave her that score of eleven. After a minute, I decide on what I want to say.

"Well, anyone who's trying to survive out here without much provisions will start by looking for one thing: water." I inform them. "My best bet is she'll be searching for a source of water somewhere."

They study me for a minute and then begin to talk amongst themselves. I continue to munch on the granola bar as I watch them. They soon seem to come up with a decision and Cato nods to me.

"All right, lover boy. We head for water then."

Marina, who was given a compass to help them find their way around, is told to pick a direction for us to follow. I guess they figure that since she lives by the ocean, she would know the best route to find a water source. Whether she does or not, I don't know, but she soon picks a direction and we head that way.

Truth be told, the odds of us tracking Katniss down and finding her are slim to none if things keep going the way they are, which is what I hope for. I can only imagine how vast this forest is. Plus there is also that wide empty stretch of land that I saw in front of me on the first day. Whatever is over there, some tributes could be hiding out there as well. I wouldn't be surprised if they are all spread out around the arena, trying to stay alive and avoiding everyone else.

By mid-afternoon, Marina seems to have led us in a promising direction. We pick up the pace as she tells us that she thinks water is close. I begin to feel that sense of dread again, like when I saw Katniss vanishing into the woods on the first day. This time, instead of the fear of losing track of her, I dread the possibility of us accidentally running into her.

My fears turn out to be unfounded as we approach a clearing, however, because it turns out that she has just led us back to the beginning: to the lake.

Cato is far from pleased. "You said you knew where you were going!"

"And I did!" Marina snaps. "This is the closest bed of water I know! Besides, my canteen is getting empty anyway."

"Might as well get refills," Glimmer mutters, rolling her eyes.

I heave a sigh of relief. Whether she did it on purpose or not, Marina has most likely taken us even further away from Katniss. Glancing over at Cato, I see him watching me, a look of suspicion on his face. Clearly, he heard my sigh of relief.

I have to be more careful, I tell myself. If I fall out of the Career's good graces, it's still four to one. I don't think Marina would join in with them and kill me, but neither do I think that she would try to help me. That would assuredly mean her death as well, and we're not friends or anything. Here in the Games, it's every man for himself when the going gets rough. If I don't keep up this act of wanting to hunt Katniss down, no amount of reasoning or show of strength is going to help me. Doing my utmost to hide my nervousness, I join the others in refilling my canteen full of lake water.

Cato and I keep some distance from each other. If he plans to kill me, he probably is going to come up with some sort of strategy first. After all, he did seem a little intimidated when I displayed my strength on the first day. I see him stalk off to the mound of food after he fills up his canteen. The boy from Three is still there guarding it, spear in hand. He quickly stands up when Cato approaches and I notice him begin to tremble slightly as the bigger boy questions him. It seems that no one has come by to try and steal the food, according to the boy, and Cato leaves him alone after that.

"I say we try the field," Marvel remarks as we all sit together. "Katniss can be taken care of later, when there's less of them around. Why don't we start with the other ones first?"

A field. So that's what the open space is. I look over in that direction as the others talk. What looks to be nothing but sky is actually a steep incline into a thick field of tall grass, Marvel informs us. He had apparently been standing right in front of it before the gong sounded that first day.

"I don't know," Clove remarks. "That's really long grass. Who knows what could be creeping around in there?"

I glance over at the field again. There's different shades spread all throughout it: shades of greens, browns and yellows. As I eye the tall stalks swaying in the wind, a chill runs through me. Perhaps it's a sixth sense, but something just seems off to me about that field. Sinister.

"I saw some tributes running in there, though," Marvel argues. "Including that guy from Eleven."

This seems to interest Cato, since apparently taking down Thresh would be a major win for the Careers. Well, I suppose the guy is big enough and I'm sure he'd put up a good fight. Killing him in the eyes of the Career boys would be an achievement.

"We'll just take a quick look," Cato decides. "We won't stay in there for long." It seems that even despite the temptation of hunting down the boy from Eleven, he really doesn't want to chance what could be in there. Marvel just shrugs and mutters how there can be other ways of catching him anyway.

After eating a light lunch and resting for an hour or so, we start heading in the direction of the open sky. I keep my place behind them before Cato stops me.

"Oh no, you don't. You two in the front. We'll be behind you."

By "you two," he's referring to both Marina and me. We're both shoved ahead of the others and lead the way down the steep hill. Below, I see a vast row of gold and green stalks.

"They're not happy with us," Marina hisses as we walk side by side.

"I know it," I whisper back. With my vague answers about finding Katniss and Marina's stunt of bringing us back to the lake and Cornucopia, I can only imagine how suspicious we seem. We could even be suspected of plotting something together. I think of the look Cato gave me. No wonder he put us in the front. If we act up, we'll have them to face and if there's danger in the field, we'll be the first to be hit.

"Did you do that on purpose?" I ask her. "Direct us back to the lake?"

She keeps her eyes looking straight ahead as she says, "Who can say?"

I grip my knife tightly as we ease our way into the field. I really don't want to go far. It's extremely dense and I can only imagine what animals or other dangers could be waiting for us here. Quicksand comes to mind as well and I look down at the ground under my feet. The others decide to split up in pairs; two going right, two going left and two going straight ahead. We're bound to find someone, they figure. Marina and I walk along, keeping our eyes peeled for any color that's not yellow or green and we decide to stay very close to the edge of the field. While I don't want to kill anyone, I know I also have to be on the lookout for someone who might kill me, not to mention any wild beast on the hunt. As the afternoon wears on, we snack on some crackers and sip from our canteens while we continue our slow walk. The fallen wheat and grass stalks crunch under our feet.

Evening comes and we begin to hear the familiar sound of crickets chirping. A cool breeze rustles the grass and I almost think I hear something moving around. By this time, we've just about halted any progress we were pretending to make and just look around warily. I'm about to tell Marina that we should just head back to the lake and camp when we hear Clove shout.

"There he is! Get him!"

Then we see him, a young boy, most likely from Ten, running through the grass with the Careers hot on his trail. Glimmer shouts at us to follow and without really thinking, we do. I can see the boy clearly now, doing more of a hop and a skip rather than running. He has a bad foot, I realize, and I can recall how he had struggled during our training. Even so, for having a crippled foot, he's running faster than I would have expected. Most likely it's from adrenaline and the fear of being killed. I fall behind the others as they chase him back into the forest. He'll be dead soon and there's nothing I can do about it.

With the coming evening, the woods grow dark, being already dim from how little sunlight gets through the dense trees. It's becoming difficult to see ahead of me and I realize I had forgotten to bring a flashlight. I try not to panic, though. I can hear the sounds of the others anyhow. They're bickering again, and this time, they're playing the blame game. From what I can gather, apparently somehow the boy was able to escape them, bad leg and all. Doesn't surprise me, actually. The woods are darkening by the minute.

"I can't believe you forgot the night glasses back at the camp!" Glimmer is shouting at Marina.

"Since when was it my duty to make sure you all have your precious night glasses?" She snaps in return. "It's not like we've needed them before, since we've used flashlights and torches."

The girls continue to bicker, while the two guys just stand by. They're the first to notice me approaching.

"Well, you took your precious time, didn't you, lover boy?"

I glance over and meet Cato's cold eye. "Just trying not to get lost out here. It's almost pitch," I answer, as calmly as possible.

"Aw, is someone afraid of the dark?" Clove taunts, talking in a sort of baby talk. She and Glimmer giggle while I just roll my eyes. Well they sure snapped out of their argument fast enough.

"More like I'm afraid of what could be there in those woods that can see better in the dark than I can."

"He's got a point. We should probably just sit tight until morning," I hear Marina, ever the voice of sense, suggest. She's right, of course. Even though Glimmer was smart enough to bring a flashlight, I don't think any of us are too keen on finding our way through these woods and back to camp in the dark.

The other two girls roll their eyes and give Marina hateful looks while Marvel shrugs. "Whatever you say, Four. All I know is, that kid couldn't have gotten far with that bad foot and all. We're close."

"Yeah." Cato looks straight at me. "Closer to getting to _her_."

I ignore him and sit down on the ground, finding a tree to lean against. In the dim glow of the flashlight, I see everyone prepare to camp for the night, beginning to unroll their sleeping bags. After a moment, I do the same.

I don't know what time it is that I drop off to sleep. It's too dark to really tell, and there's not a star or a moon in the sky, all covered by clouds. However, it only feels like two or three hours have passed when I'm awakened again. Lifting my head up from the ground, I hear what sounds like rustling of leaves and the pounding of feet. That's when I detect a faint smell. Smoke.


	12. Chapter 12

It doesn't take me long to figure out that the sound of footfalls that I was hearing were from animals. I can now see them all around us, fleeing from imminent danger as the smoke becomes thicker. I'm not the only one to notice this, however, as I soon hear one of the others shout out,

"Fire!"

We're all on our feet in a matter of seconds and we scramble for our things before we take off running, away from the oncoming thick smoke and tongues of oranges and reds. Even as we flee, however, flames begin to spread. Soon the forest is ablaze, sending sparks and burning branches down upon us. The smoke becomes almost unbearable. We begin to choke on it as we run. How I long to reach for my canteen and take a drink, but stopping for even a second means getting burnt to a crisp. Cursing to myself, I lift the collar of my tshirt up over my mouth and nose, and while that helps, the blistering heat and smoke make my eyes sting.

The others aren't faring much better. Clove stumbles at one point and Cato tugs her back up, his arm around her back as they sprint onwards. I see Marina almost trip over a fallen tree trunk and Glimmer and Marvel have to dodge a couple more as they fall into a mass of flames.

This is no ordinary fire. It's not something started by a careless tribute. No, this is definitely something conjured up by the Gamemakers, probably to make the games more exciting. Just as I suspected, the sight of us hiding or just walking around was becoming too tedious. They had to spice it up for the viewers somehow, and what better way than a forest fire that will draw us all out and make us run into each other? I wonder where the remaining tributes are, and if they are coming towards us to escape the flames.

The smoke is getting into our nostrils, filling our lungs. We all begin to wheeze and cough as we run. It makes it hard to breathe, but we can't stop. Glimmer trips over something, maybe a rock or a branch, and collapses in a heap. She's gagging from the smoke inhalation even as she struggles to get up. Against my better judgment, I dive towards her, grasping her by the belt and hauling her up onto her feet again. Just in time too, because I feel the heat of the flames behind us. I wouldn't be surprised if the hair on the back of my head was singed from the impact.

Just when it seems we're all going to die of suffocation, Cato finds some shelter behind some large stones that are littered all around the forest floor. It seems we're in a different part of the woods, this being the first time I've seen something else besides trees and leaves. I wonder if we're anywhere near the lake, or if we're in a new area, about to be exposed to even more threats. Throwing our weapons and baggage down before us, we fall to the ground, leaning against the barrier from the fire.

We're all coughing and wheezing as we try to force air back into our singed lungs. Marvel is gagging up whatever lunch he ate while Marina looks like she's about to faint. As for me, my throat feels like it's been burnt to a crisp and it hurts to swallow. All of our faces are caked with soot, sweat leaving visible trails down our dirty cheeks. Slowly but surely, we all retrieve our canteens to try and alleviate the feeling of raw throats and burnt skin. I dab some water onto Marina's face, trickle some over her mouth. It seems to help and her eyes flutter open.

"I hate fire," she mutters as she rests her head against the rock. She slowly sips some water.

My throat is still too raw to say anything, so I just nod. I know what it's like to be burnt, working in a bakery all my life. Whether it's from the hot bread, or from the metal grates in an oven, even the slightest of burns is agony. I look over to see how the others are doing. Glimmer, it seems, has received a few minor burns after falling down the way she did. Fortunately, she carries the first aid kit with her, which has burn ointment.

"Do you need some?" She asks me, avoiding my gaze.

"No," I answer. "I'm all right." I fortunately hadn't been injured in that brush with death. The only thing I could really say was damaged was some of my hair.

She nods and our eyes meet for a moment. I can't be certain, but it almost looks like she's trying to thank me. She doesn't say anything, however. She just nods and sits back down. After a minute of sipping water and regaining our strength, Cato rises to his feet.

"We should get moving," he states. He looks around as the smoke comes curling down past our small shelter. Suddenly, his eyes grow wide and a look of terror that I've never seen before comes over his face.

"Move!" He shouts, pulling Clove to her feet.

Suddenly, **boom!** Something hits the rock behind us, exploding into a flurry of sparks. It's almost like gunpowder. The rest of us dart up in seconds. Whatever is coming now, it's even worse than the fire. Looking behind me, I feel the same amount of terror that was exposed on Cato's face. Hundreds of bright orange fireballs are shooting our way, exploding into trees and rocks around us.

I have no idea where we're running to, nor do I care. All that I can think about is running for dear life while avoiding the missiles launched at us. Some of them find their mark, though. Cato is hit on the arm; I see him clutching it in pain. Marina's face is grazed and she cries out. I can see the blistering skin of her cheek, her hair burnt off in the back. Her ear is bleeding. The others receive minor burns, able to dodge the fireballs well enough, diving and zigzagging back and forth. As for me, I decide to look back once as we're speeding through the trees, to see one hurling right at me. I do the only thing that comes to mind, and throw myself down on my right. It crashes into a tree nearby and I have to shield my eyes from the shower of sparks that land on my face.

I can't stay lying there on the ground for long, because more of them continue flying towards us. The moment I'm back on my feet, one explodes on the ground right where I was lying. I'm beginning to choke and suffocate again. This time, though, it's not just from smoke. It's also from some sort of toxin released by these small balls of fire. I hadn't felt the need to vomit during the last attack, but this time I can feel the bile rising up in my throat. My head is spinning. Ducking my head as a fireball goes whizzing past me, I throw my arm over my mouth and nose and continue to run. I don't notice quick enough when one comes at me from the side and before I can duck or move, the fireball leaves a hot, searing streak of pain across my chest. I'm knocked down on my back for a moment, fighting for breath. They're coming at us from the sides now, making us change our course. Wheezing from the pain, I pull myself up again and stagger onwards.

It's obvious they're making us head in a specific direction now. We start to run downhill and I slip on some leaves, skidding down a slight incline while the others hop-skip their way. I soon fall on my back and continue to tumble, but I couldn't be more grateful, as I can see a small creek coming towards me. I land only inches away from the water.

Marina stumbles towards me and falls to her knees. "Water.." she croaks out before she plunging her face into the cool stream. I just lie there, retching out what little food I have in my stomach. Afterwards, when I no longer feel as dizzy, I bathe my stinging face, washing away the soot. When I've mostly recovered and my stomach has settled, I glance up to see that everything has fallen silent and only a slight amount of smoke continues to trickle down to us. It seems the barrage of fireballs has ended and I heave a sigh of immense relief.

We're exhausted. Not wanting to move a muscle, the two of us just lie there in the water. It's a much desired respite from the suffocating smoke and painful burns, and my damp shirt brings relief to the burn on my chest. Meanwhile, I can hear the others slowly making their way down to us, coughing and wheezing again.

"C'mere Glimmer," Marvel says in a raspy voice. "We need some of that burnt ointment you got."

I push myself up by my hands to look at them. "Marina needs some too," I try to say. It takes me a couple of tries before I can find my voice.

Glimmer nods but decides to administer some on Cato's arm before going over to help Marina. When I'm given the small bottle, there's hardly any left and I have to reach down to scoop it up with my finger. I glare down the ground, frustrated beyond explanation. They did it on purpose, to punish her. They know Marina is in pain. The burn on her cheek and the blood oozing down from her ear is as plain as day, and yet almost all of the medicine is gone. I bite back a few choice words and crawl over to the girl who is just lying there by the water on her back.

"Here," I whisper. It's much easier than trying to use my actual voice. "It's not much, but it'll help."

She nods slowly and I dab her blistering cheek with the stuff. It's clear and has a pungent odor to it, but it does its job. Marina hisses in pain and flinches, but a moment later, also emits a sigh of relief. The ointment works almost like magic. The irritated areas begin to heal almost right after the stuff is applied to the skin. After that, I figure I should help her with her bleeding ear.

I don't have much in my pack, so I take my blanket and dab a corner of it into the stream before using it to wipe the blood away. I'm not sure if the ointment will help that either, and I only have a small bit of it left, but I apply it to her ear as well. It seems to help alleviate some of the pain. Now, with part of her cheek healing, I continue to staunch the blood from her ear until it stops flowing.

"Thank you," she murmurs, opening her eyes slightly. "You don't have to do this."

"I know, but I want to," I answer. I toss the blanket aside. "Can you sit up?"

"Yeah." Propping herself up with her arms, she slowly rises. It's then that the other four join us at the bed of the creek.

"We need to keep moving. No telling what they're gonna throw at us next," Cato tells us. For once, I agree with him.

They watch the two of us as we slowly get up. Once we're on our feet, we continue our march along the side of the creek. We all know we should go further uphill sooner or later, but right now, staying by the water seems like the best choice in case of more fire.

"You think that fire was on purpose?" Glimmer asks.

"Gotta be. They probably want us all to run into each other," Clove replies. I had been thinking the exact same thing. The Games are wearing on. It's time to get things moving.

And move they do, because further up the creek near a fallen tree, another tribute is lying in the water. None of the others seems to have spotted them yet, so I keep silent. Besides, that black jacket and braid of dark hair looks familiar...

 _Not her. Please not her._

But it is her. It's Katniss. I'd recognize her anywhere. Dirty, singed, and weary from most likely running for her life just like us, she's lying in the water in a way similar to what Marina did minutes ago. My heart skips a beat and I have to clench my jaw so I don't cry out. Maybe if I pretend that I don't notice her, the Careers won't, either.

There's a splash; ripples in the water from someone kicking rocks. Katniss stirs and sees us coming only moments before they see her. It's a good thing too, because she has a slight head start when they notice her and begin whooping and hollering after her.

I run after them, heart in my throat while I see Katniss crashing through the brush up ahead. She's limping. The fire must have done some damage in some way. I feel that tightness in my chest again when I think of what could have happened to have incapacitated her.

 _At least she's still alive_ , a small voice echoes in my head. She can still move. She's still breathing. Just as I had expected, she's been surviving out here, most likely living off of the wildlife and preserving water. It just goes to show how much she does deserve to win. She's upstaged everyone, probably overcoming obstacle after obstacle, and now even withstanding a wall of flames and missiles of fireballs. I hope the sponsors have been noticing her.

The Careers chase after her, jeering and baying like a ravenous pack of wolves hunting down their prey.

"We got you, Katniss!"

"Where you going, Girl on Fire?"

"Yeah, you can't run for long!"

Again and again they taunt her, but to Katniss's credit, she keeps running until she comes upon a sturdy looking tree. Between the other's heads, I can spy her scaling up the trunk like a squirrel, gripping branch after branch as she goes higher. My heart slows its pace and I breathe easier now. They may think that she's trapped up there, but I'd like to see them try to go after her. Katniss is pretty high up, and some of those branches look a bit unstable for anyone the size of her four pursuers.

We all stare up at her as she peers down at us, clinging to the tree almost twenty feet high amidst the branches. I glance at the four of them before looking back up at her. It's obvious to see that they're trying to figure out how to best kill her, and as for Katniss, she's starting to smile. She must have thought up something to her advantage.

"How's everything with you?" She calls down, surprisingly cheerful for being injured and stuck up in a tree.

I watch the Careers stare at her, momentarily at a loss for words. Even Marina blinks in surprise. Then Cato smirks. "Well enough. Yourself?" He answers, playing along.

"It's been a bit warm for my taste!"

I can't help but smile at her blasé attitude. I've come to appreciate her dry sense of humor. It reminds me of Cain somewhat. I duck my head, hiding my amusement.

"The air's better up here," she crows. "Why don't you come on up?"

Cato sneers. "Think I will," he decides. I almost shake my head ruefully. There's no way he's getting up that tree; at least, not up high enough to reach her.

Glimmer offers him the bow and arrows that she had snatched on the first day, the ones that Katniss had so desired. Cato declines them, however, preferring to use his sword, before he begins his climb. Meanwhile, I keep my eyes lowered as I try to preoccupy myself with polishing my knife, using the only tool I have, my shirt. I know Katniss is probably glaring at me after seeing Glimmer with the bow. She's probably furious that I distracted her from trying to get her hands on it. Not only that, but I don't want to be seen choking back laughter when Cato comes tumbling down out of the tree. There's no way he'll get to Katniss, especially now that she's climbed another thirty feet up.

Sure enough, I hear a branch snap and Cato soon collapses on the forest floor, a string of profanity erupting from him. I could have told him that would have happened. He's way too heavy to reach where Katniss is.

"I'll get her," Glimmer exclaims. She shoulders the bow and pack of arrows before scaling the tree herself. She may be smaller than Cato, but it soon becomes obvious she doesn't know how to climb a tree too well. Her foot rests upon a weaker branch and she has to stop as Katniss continues to observe her from her perch, nigh unreachable. She smiles, daring Glimmer to try further. With a hiss, Glimmer scrounges for the bow, stringing an arrow to shoot. It almost makes me want to laugh. I've seen Glimmer use a bow during training. She couldn't hit a target if her life depended upon it. She lets an arrow fly and as I expected, it misses her mark, embedded in the tree.

Katniss has the arrow now, waving it above her head; taunting Glimmer while smirking. With a toss of her head, Glimmer descends, looking almost as enraged as Cato. The other two aren't very happy either. This upstart from lowly Twelve has dared to humiliate them, they're probably thinking. She needs to be taken care of.

"We could burn the tree," Clove suggests. "Try to smoke her out." The four are huddled together, whispering amongst themselves, deciding what to do about Katniss. Marina doesn't join in the conspiring. She looks too exhausted and weak to do much of anything.

"Yeah, you got that fire starter kit?" Cato asks Marvel.

"Sure, but I don't know if it's enough to set a whole tree on fire!"

Daylight is starting to fade. I look up into the sky and notice that it's no longer blue, but various shades of pinks, purples and oranges. The sun is setting.

"Well, might as well try!" Cato argues. "We could gather some twigs and leaves and then build a huge bonfire."

"Or I could just throw my spear up at her," Marvel retorts. "I probably have better aim than you with that bow," he smirks at his fellow tribute.

Glimmer's face burns from embarrassment. "I'd like to see you try!" She snaps.

I roll my eyes, fed up with their bickering. "Oh, let her stay up there!" I blurt out. "It's not like she's going anywhere. We'll deal with her in the morning." I wave them aside and plant myself down some ways off from her tree. Hopefully this will delay things a bit. Hopefully Katniss is smart enough to think this as well and decides to sneak off during the night.

Thankfully, the others do decide to wait until morning to figure out what to do with her. It seems Marina and I aren't the only ones still winded from today. As the woods once again begin to darken around us, the four of them decide to assign a watch to Katniss' tree. Of course, I'm not chosen. They don't trust me in dealing with Katniss as far as they could throw.

I glance over at Marina to see she's already fallen asleep. I wish I could explain everything to her. We seemed to have actually come to some sort of understanding over the past couple of days. Maybe we could form some sort of alliance with Katniss to fight the Careers, I don't know. I just know that I really need to think of something before Katniss is killed. She can't stay up in that tree forever and we have enough supplies to wait her out.

A fire is lit to keep us warm through the night and the first person to be put on duty is Marvel. He sits under the tree, sharpening the blade of his spear. As I lie there nearby, I crane my neck to see if I can catch a glimpse of Katniss up on her perch. No, she's on the other side. I dig my knife out of the hilt at my leg and examine it. Maybe if I wait long enough, one of them will fall asleep on their watch and I can take them out quietly before killing the others. I could finish them off and show Katniss that I'm on her side. I would leave Marina alone, of course, giving her the chance to either stay with us or go off on her own.

No, I then think. Too risky. Cato is a light sleeper. It was he who shouted fire to the rest of us the other day, hearing the sounds of the animals fleeing the same time I did. Even if I tried to be quiet about it, he'd be up in a second. Plus he is probably even more on guard now that he's suspicious of me.

I watch as they switch their shifts during the night while the others sleep, and even as I see Clove take over, my eyes begin to feel heavy. I have to stay awake though, I tell myself, and I pinch my arm. Risk or no risk, my mind is made up. I have to take them all out in the night so Katniss can escape. The words of both Roy and Haymitch scold me as I lie there.

Don't do anything stupid.

What else can I do, though? I feel as if I've come to an impasse. This was bound to happen eventually.

It must be three o'clock in the morning at least, and the watch shifts again. This time it's Cato and he looks very much awake as he sits there under the big tree. The fire has died down low and he uses a stick to ignite it again. That's when I catch the flicker of his eyes looking straight at me. An involuntary shiver crawls down my spine. Can he tell that I'm still awake, watching them as they guard Katniss? It's hard to say, since I'm partially hidden by my sleeping bag and the hood of my jacket. Just to be safe, though, I close my eyes to give off the impression that I'm asleep.

It turns out that this is the worst possible choice that I could have ever made, because before I know it, I actually do fall asleep, and when morning comes, I don't have time to figure out what my next move is. I'm awoken out of my slumber in excruciating pain, with the sound of angry buzzing in my ears.


	13. Chapter 13

I remember being stung by a bee once, when I was around nine years old. I had been playing outside with Delly and we thought how fun it would be to explore the forbidden part of the District: the Seam. As young kids, we weren't allowed to go out that way. Our mothers always scolded us about it, saying only vagrants and ruffians lived there. But we were curious kids and the fact that the Seam was forbidden made it even more desirable. Besides, we went to school with kids from the Seam, and they weren't so bad. How horrible could it be, really?

Delly had the ingenious idea of coming up with the excuse that we were going to the schoolyard to play. It was the only area that had a playground: an old, creaky wooden thing with merely a slide and one swing, but it was paradise to most of us kids. That being said, right beside the schoolyard was a dirt road that led directly to our destination. Delly was excited because there were some kids she wanted to visit that she only got to see at school. I was excited for the same reason, but there was only one child in particular that I was hoping to see.

So the two of us, thinking we were so clever in outwitting our parents, made our way to the school. The only thing we had with us was a kickball. I was hoping we could start a big kickball game with the other kids around the Seam, like the naive little guy I was. Back then I still had no real concept of how harsh life was for those kids. Little did I know that many of them were spending their days doing a lot of drudge work at their homes while their parents toiled away underground, mining for coal.

We made it to the school in record time, so excited to be able to explore a new part of town that we'd never seen before. Just imagine how extreme our disappointment was when we saw that the fence that separated the schoolyard from the back road to the Seam was closed and bolted! It was usually open during school hours.

I flung my arms up in frustration. "Now whadda we do?"

Delly frowned and put her hands on her hips. She strode up to that fence and studied the thing, as if staring at it intensely would make the door magically swing open. Then she gasped.

"Hey, Peeta! You think we could fit through the bars?"

I approached her and looked at the fence. Then I shrugged. The gap between the fence bars wasn't too big, but we were little. We could probably squeeze.

"We could, I think," I said. "I mean, we're only kids. I don't think a grownup could, though."

"Let's do it!" She shouted excitedly. Sticking one foot out, she began to squeeze herself through the gap. As I watched her, I saw her foot hit something, a small bed of wildflowers. And in those flowers were bees. My eyes widened.

"Delly! Watch out! Bees!" I shouted.

Too late, though. The bees began to fly at us, ready to sting. I guess they felt threatened. I would have run but Delly was stuck with one foot on one side and the other foot on the other side. She was getting stung and beginning to cry.

"Peeta help!" She wailed as a red welt appeared on her cheek. What else could I do but run over and help pull her out? The bees were relentless and soon we were both covered in red and swollen sores from the sharp stingers. By the time we freed Delly from the fence, we were both in tears and ran home as fast as our short legs could carry us.

Delly's mom had taken care of us and fixed up our stings, but we never really went back to that fence. Delly probably never wanted to go through that experience of getting stuck between the bars again and I was always wary of bees after that. I never wanted to get stung again.

So, waking up to the most painful bee stings yet, with the furious sound of an entire hive surrounding me is the worst nightmare I could ever imagine. These aren't ordinary stings, either. They're far worse, injecting a venom that either kills you right away or subjects you to the most horrifying hallucinations that will drive you crazy in a mere matter of minutes. No, I'm being attacked by tracker jackers, a type of mutt creature that the Capitol genetically created for the war to track down and sting enemies to death and madness. They were supposedly destroyed after the Capitol won the war, but I've heard that they apparently can still be found on the outskirts of the districts. And now it seems they're another tool for the Capitol to make the Games a living Hell.

We all know the best thing to do is to take off as fast as we can because if we don't, they'll just keep stinging us until we blow up like a balloon and die of a reaction to the poison or of suffocation. I can already feel the stings swelling up to the size of a peach on my neck and knees and I can tell the poison has already begun its work. The ground seems to collapse under my feet and I get the bizarre sense that I'm falling.

"To the lake! To the lake!"

Someone is shouting as if in the distance. I still see the ground caving around me and I struggle to move, stepping on what I think are chunks of broken earth so that I don't fall from the sky. Another sting on my hand jars me back to reality for a moment and I jerk my head back and forth. No, the ground is not collapsing beneath me. That's not real. It's only a hallucination. I look up quickly and gasp, jerking to the side before I nearly collide into a tree.

I need to get to the lake. Cold water will snap me out of this haze and probably help the swelling go down. I take a deep breath and kick my feet to run faster, away from the threat. High pitched screams pierce my ears as I run. Someone was not so fortunate as me, I fear. But there's nothing I can do. I keep running.

No matter how far or fast I sprint, however, the screams still echo around me, as if I'm right beside the victim. I clap my hands over my ears but it still doesn't help. Instead, it makes me fall. My hands hit the ground and I see maggots, all sort of tiny, white wriggling maggots crawling up my skin and into the sleeves of my jacket. I can feel them squirming around up under my clothes and almost under my skin. Any moment now they'll reach my mouth; then my nose; then my ears; and then my eyes.

As I roll around on the ground, flailing for dear life, trying to get these horrible things off of me, I hear something else. Buzzing.

 **It's not real.**

That one thought resounds across my subconscious and I'm back on my feet, fighting off the hallucinations as best as I can so I can get away from the tracker jackers. The cool, rippling blue of the lake appears before me and I dash for it, plunging my whole body into it without a second thought. The buzzing stops. The hallucinations subside. The terrible pain and throbbing of my stings abates for some minutes and I heave a relieved sigh. I've escaped the tracker jackers.

Suddenly, I hear three more splashes around me and I look up to see Cato, Clove and Marvel dousing themselves in the same way I have just done. Glimmer is nowhere to be seen. Neither is Marina. My heart drops and I pull myself back to the shore.

Marina. If she's not dead yet, she will be soon. I should have helped her. I should have made sure she escaped like the rest of us. But I didn't, and as I eye the line of trees a few feet away and no one else appears, I know I'll have to live with the fact that I let her die.

Then it hits me like a ton of bricks. Katniss. _**Katniss.**_ She obviously was the one who dropped the tracker jacker nest. No doubt so she could escape the Careers. But where is she? Is she still up in that tree? Did she escape as we ran for the lake? Or is she still back there, being stung to death like Glimmer and Marina?

Stupid. I'm so stupid. I should never have fallen asleep last night. I could have helped her, but instead, I'm stung and infected, while she could be dead. I crawl slowly along the ground, gripping the grass all the while, as I try to fight off another hallucination of green ooze running down my hand. Or, is that really happening? It seems to be coming from my sting. Whatever the case, I'm trying to fight against a world that is spinning. Two cannons go off, booming in my ear. Marina and Glimmer are dead.

That's when I see him, Cato, rising up out of the lake in a fury. He stumbles a little but doesn't lose his footing and then yanks his sword out from his belt.

" _Damn_ her!I'll kill her myself!" He roars, his face a fiery red not just from the welts but from the rage brewing inside. Like a tiger, he leaps from the water and bounds towards the woods.

Icy fingers grip my heart and I begin to pant heavily. No. No. _No._

" _Katniss."_ I grit my teeth and force myself up from the ground. Marvel's spear lies unguarded just a short ways away from me and I lunge for it. Once I have it in my grasp, I take off into the trees. All bets are off. All convictions pushed aside for now. He will not kill her. I won't let him.

Branches and leaves whip my face as I dash through the woods. Whether by hallucinations or not, I find I can hear Cato nearby on the hunt. We're both looking for Katniss, her fate to be decided by which one of us gets to her first. I keep my spear poised, ready to throw in case he reaches her before I do. Just one clean throw and I could kill him before he kills her.

When I make it back to the spot where the tracker jackers were unleashed, I see a grotesque mass of skin, clothes and hair a few feet away. Blonde hair. It's Glimmer.

And kneeling next to her, not moving, is Katniss.

I nearly stumble in shock. She's just kneeling there, the bow hanging limp in her hand. It almost seems like she had been trying to notch an arrow but couldn't find the strength or will. We stare at each other and still she doesn't move. What is she doing?!

I can hear Cato coming. He's not too far off and I turn to see if he's appeared. No, not just yet. Then I focus my attention back on her, or the both of her. I'm starting to see double. With a small shake of my head, I lower the spear.

"What are you still doing here?!" I hiss. There's only one of her now and she just blinks at me. No doubt the venom is affecting her too. She's probably not even sure if I'm actually standing in front of her. Still, she needs to _move!_

"Are you mad?!" I try again. Still no response, so I gently jab her in the side with the butt of the spear to push her to her feet. She doesn't yield at first.

"Get up! _Get up!_ " I raise my voice a little. Cato is closer.

She's up now, but she's still staring at me, now looking confused. The sound of the brush crashing behind us is only a couple feet away. I swear I can hear Cato panting for breath. Looking behind me, I clearly see his head through the brush approaching. There's murder in his eyes.

"Run!" I shove her away from me. No time to be gentle. _"Run!"_ I basically scream. Apparently the desperation in my voice and the sight of Cato barreling towards us is enough to spur her into action. She turns and takes off in the opposite direction of us.

Cato is quite ready to ignore me and go after Katniss first, but that's not in my plan. I toss the spear at him, but my aim is shaky due to the poison and it falls a couple inches off. Now, with no weapon, just me standing in the way of him killing her, I let out a roar and throw myself at him, tackling him to the ground. I don't care how much damage he'll do or if he kills me, as long as I give her enough time to get away.

Years of wrestling comes in handy now. I wrap my arms around his waist and show him just how much strength I really posses, tossing him to the ground, his sword thrown aside. He's back up just moments later, however and furiously rams right into me. Had this been just a normal match instead of a fight to the death, I probably could easily say he would be a good opponent. It takes all that I have to fight him off so he doesn't kill me.

At one point, I'm shoved to the ground and endure a couple good punches to the face before I knee him in the gut. He flinches, giving me enough time to hit him back. Again and again, until his reaching hand grasps the sword. He swings it high and all I can do is tumble away from him before the blade slices through my middle.

We're up on our feet facing each other, panting, snarling, growling, like two wild beasts. I know I have no chance against the sword and my knife had fallen out of its hilt as I went careening towards the lake. He swings at me and I fall back. He swings again and I dodge him. We can keep doing this for hours if we keep our strength up, but the venom in our systems is making us woozy. With one final shout, he comes at me, swinging that sword high. I trip over myself and go tumbling down while he stumbles like a drunken man, probably seeing two of me as I saw two of Katniss. All I can do is roll side to side as he keeps stabbing, so he doesn't impale me.

Suddenly a bright red flash of pain overwhelms me. The most excruciating feeling of cold hard steel slicing through my leg stops me dead. I can faintly hear someone screaming in agony and it takes a second to realize I'm hearing myself. Cato slides the sword out of my leg and I'm left clutching it, watching as rivers of blood stream out onto my pants. Of course, that could just be the hallucinations conjuring up more blood than there really is, but the pain is all too real.

Cato staggers and falls down, panting; the sword limp in his hand. I can't stay here, injured and bleeding out. I need to get moving before he comes to his senses again. I grit my teeth so hard my jaw starts aching, but it's enough to get me going and I drag myself along, moving with my arms. Left, right, left, I slowly crawl away, my leg screaming bloody murder each time I drag it. After what seems like an eternity of crawling, I turn to see Cato still way too close by and I know I'm moving way too slowly. Cut leg or not, I have to stand. I grip the trunk of a nearby tree and hoist myself up, slowly but surely, making sure I put most of my weight on the good leg.

The moment I try to take a step without the aid of the tree, sharp searing pain pierces straight down my leg. It's enough to bring tears to my eyes, but I keep limping along. I steady myself on one tree at a time, falling against them as a brace before pushing myself onward. I don't know where I'm going at first, I just know I need to get away from Cato.

The blood is still seeping down my leg and my head begins to spin. I can feel my heartbeat quicken as it tries to work overtime and produce more blood as I continue to lose it. The sky has turned red; the trees crumble into ashes. I guess I'm dying, I think to myself. Well, it's certainly not very fun.

My mouth grew dry a while ago and my tongue is now starting to feel heavy and swollen. Water, I need water. Whatever gear I had was left back at the camp by Katniss's tree. I can no longer walk and easily trip on a branch in my way, falling to the ground. Is this it? Is this the moment when I die? What about Katniss? Is she safe? Well, I suppose I did save her...

Suddenly visions start to flash through my mind unbidden. My family dying in a freak accident in the bakery; District Twelve being overrun by peacekeepers and burning to ashes; the lifeless eyes of the girl from Eight staring straight at me, her arms reaching for me; Katniss being hunted down and massacred by the remaining Careers. I can hear her harsh screams echo in my ears. Over and over these visions play out, the worst of the tracker jacker venom doing its job. This was why the venom was known to drive people mad: it showed you hallucinations that exploited your greatest fears, making you think that they were all real.

I feel a couple of tears roll down my cheeks when I hear Katniss screaming again and see the life leave her eyes. Gripping the ground underneath me, I push aside the pain in my leg as I hoist myself up by the hands. It seems I'm not ready to die just yet.

"I need to find water," I whisper. It's hard to do, but I try to retrace our steps from yesterday. The screams of Katniss and my family keep butting in as I drag myself along and I always have to stop to clear my head when the screams become deafening. Not real. Not real. Not real, I tell myself.

Blood is dripping onto the pale grey of big rocks as I trudge along. "Rocks," I mutter. Where did I see rocks before? Suddenly my eyes widen and I remember. We had been walking along a creek that was littered with large rocks when we spotted Katniss. I must be near that creek now.

The water almost seems like a mirage; it's too good to be true. But I can hear it rippling by and feel it as it seeps into my sock. I spot a rather large bush under some rocks right at the side of the creek and slowly lower myself down, using the overhanging stones as a small shelter. Then before I do anything else, I scoop the water in my hands and sip what I can. It's the biggest relief I've had yet, the way my body begins to relax now that I have water in my system again. Even so, that doesn't stop me from being lightheaded. I know that I need to at least try to stop the bleeding. I've lost too much of it already.

My only tool I can use for stopping the blood flow is my clothing and I remove my jacket to rip a piece of it off so I can wash the cut. That's when I get a good look at it. The pants themselves have been sliced open, dark with the blood stains and I can see between the slit of fabric the swollen red skin that flares up with a new wave of excruciating pain even at the slightest touch. I could try removing my pants but I don't know if I can endure how painful the process will most likely be since it seems like the blood from the wound has already caused the pants to stick to my leg.

With shaking hands, I try to rip some of my jacket off to soak it in the water, but I'm losing strength quickly. Suddenly the material is too strong for me and the effects of my stings makes my head spin. I toss the jacket aside and lie back down on the bed of leaves, too tired to care about my leg at the moment. Besides, the bleeding seems to have slowed down, I think before closing my eyes.

Morning soon turns to afternoon and I remain under my rock, drifting in and out of consciousness. The hallucinations have begun to go away by this time, probably due to the venom wearing off. I'm able to think a little more clearly now and my attention turns to my leg again. The cut is deep, way too deep for me to patch it up, anyway. It will probably need stitches at the very least.

"And me without my needle and thread," I mutter dryly. At least I should wash it, I figure, and try to scoop some water up with my hands to drip it onto my leg. This doesn't do much and I curse myself for how incompetent I am with this sort of thing.

Suddenly I hear something moving through the trees above me and a shiver runs down my spine. Are they back? Has Cato killed Katniss off and is now searching for me? I wouldn't be hard to find, what with my bad leg and all. Then my heartbeat quickens and my breathing increases. My leg was bleeding all over the place as I tried to get away from Cato. If he indeed is looking for me, my blood trail will be easy to follow.

With a ragged breath I drag myself out from under my rock and peer around. There's no one in sight. I heave a sigh of relief and brace myself for the task at hand, which is removing my trail. I head back the way I came, despite the fact that every minute movement brings more intense pain. It's so bad that sometimes I'm temporarily blinded from it. Still, I force myself to retrace my steps. I don't want anyone tracking me down just to finish me off in the same gruesome way as the girl from Eight.

Sure enough, I soon see splotches of red on some rocks and grass; here on my left, there on my right. I let out a few grunts and groans as my leg bumps against some rocks, but I do my best to wipe the blood away with my hands. Good enough. Whether it's completely gone or not, I can't say, but I keep moving so I don't collapse out in the open. I only last for ten minutes before my leg becomes too hard to ignore. If they find me, they find me, I decide. My only hope now is that I'll be dead before that happens.

I return to my small shelter, curling up under the rock. I wonder how long it will take before I die? It'll probably happen one out of three ways. Either I'll die of starvation (I have nothing on me, my pack left behind), or from being massacred by the others, or from my injured leg. I'm not so dumb as to be naive about the gravity of my situation with this wound. I obviously need medicine for my leg to properly heal; medicine that I do not have.

My eyes glaze over as I blankly stare at the rippling water beside me. I wonder if my family is watching me right now, seeing me lying wounded by this creek. Mother is probably shaking her head at me, telling my father "I told you so!" Well, good for you, mom, I think. You've proven that I really am no survivor. I bet she's even wondering how I got this far, being one of the few still alive.

I hope Katniss made it out all right, is my next thought. Even if Cato did continue chasing after her, she had a good lead on him. Maybe she's hid up in another tree, waiting the rest of these games out. She does have that bow and those arrows now. Perhaps my first prediction of her hiding and picking off people with arrows is not too far from the truth.

I begin to feel thirsty again and take some more sips from the creek. A passing thought warns me that the water could be contaminated but I don't care. It's one of the few lifelines I have left. If I get sick, then so be it. I turn to look at my injury again and notice that it's not bleeding as much anymore. Whether that's a good sign or not remains to be seen because the cut is still bright red and incredibly swollen. I try to wash it with some more water, but after a while decide that it's better to just leave it alone; plus I find that if I don't move around too much, the pain just diminishes to a steady throbbing.

I spend the night there, huddled in my jacket, falling asleep to the sound of the water running. The night grows chilly and I try to use some leaves for warmth which doesn't help much. If only I had tools to make a fire, but I was careless and ran off like a madman without any supplies. I find that even as I lie there shivering slightly, my leg still continues to throb away.

The morning sun brings relief and I drag myself out from under the rock to feel it shining on my face. I'm so exhausted, all I can do is lie on my side, sipping water as I bask in the golden rays. Even the act of lowering my hand into the creek is enough to tire me out, I find. It's most likely a combination of the stress from my injured leg and everything my body has endured over the past couple of days. I almost don't have the energy to crawl back under the rock there, so I just decide to lay out in the open, running my fingers through the creek, swirling them in the mud that I'm lying in.

I look up at the sky and note the placement of the sun. Reaching back in the far corners of my brain, I try to remember what I was taught in school: how the rotation of the sun measures time. It's lower in the sky than earlier, so I wonder if it's afternoon by now? Sure, I mentally shrug, let's just go with that. I take another sip of water since my mouth always seems to be parched, and since it's the only thing I know I can - somewhat - safely ingest.

But even my faith in the water is tested, because a few minutes after taking a drink, a dull ache emerges in the pit of my stomach. It's almost as bad as my leg - almost, and I have to endure it for what seems like hours before I feel the bile rising in my throat. I thrust myself forward onto the grass and vomit out what little food I still have in my stomach. The acidic taste burns my throat and all I can do is force down more creek water. Whether it's that or my injured leg that's making me sick, I can't stop drinking water. If I do that, I'll die within three days or less and dying of thirst is not fun, as I've seen on previous Games.

The rest of the afternoon is miserable, rotating between exhaustion and sickness. I decide to stop drinking the water for the rest of the day and lie there looking up at the sky. I know I'm going to die soon, my body is already displaying the signs. My leg continues to grow worse and worse and I can't bear to even look at it anymore. I try caking it with some mud from the cooler water of the stream, wondering if that would help it, but to no avail.

After that, the next couple of days pass by in a blur. I'm feverish now, stripping my jacket to cool off my overheated body, just to wrap in around me again when the sweat turn to chills. It's enough to drive one crazy and I've just about deserted my spot under the rock at this point, now lying on the edge of the water instead. If I get hot, I bathe in the creek, clothes and all. If I get cold, I warm myself up in the sunny patch I've found between the overhanging trees.

Every night, I see the hologram of the Capitol's Seal displayed in the sky and I dread to see who died that day. So far, however, the numbers stay the same. Cato, Clove, Marvel, Thresh, Rue, the girl from Five, Katniss and I are still alive. That count has stayed the same for three days now and I'm more than certain that the Gamemakers are going to get antsy again soon. They'll lead the Careers to me, I think. Right to where I'm lying, dying of fever and infection already. A sudden spurt of anger rises up within me.

They won't be the ones to dictate how I should die, I think feverishly. They may think they have control over me, with my life in their hands, but I still have one more trick up my sleeve. If I'm going to die, I want to die peacefully, not being hacked apart or fighting for my life against other kids.

As soon as the morning of my fourth day at the creek dawns, I get to work, scooping mud and mold up into the dirt beside me, adding water when I want. I then dip my fingers into it, mixing it up until they form different tints of greens and browns. I have to pause every couple of minutes or so to regain my strength, but I persevere. Then, peering down at the water to see my reflection, I begin to paint my face...


	14. Chapter 14

Camouflaging myself is harder than I originally anticipated, especially when looking at my reflection in the water is the only tool I have for accuracy. Not to mention that I get so tired so quickly now that sometimes I smudge the mud when I rest. It takes me the better part of the day to complete my face and upper body before I even consider the rest of me. Then I smear leaves and sludge over my clothes and jacket and practically bury my legs in the mud as best as I can. The last parts I do are my arms and hands which is a challenge in and of itself.

When I'm finally finished, night has settled in and I begin to see the stars peeking out. I no longer fear what the next few hours or days could bring, though. If I did my job right, I'll be nearly invisible to the naked eye unless someone is looking very closely for me. I just have to make sure to close my eyes and keep extremely quiet if I hear suspicious noises.

Once I see in the sky that still no one has died yet, I try to fall asleep, hoping that the world of my dreams is better than the world in which I awake to. No such luck. The pain in my leg and my fever causes me to wake up disoriented nearly every hour, it seems. When I do get to sleep, it's erratic at best. I've never had such awful nightmares: visions of enduring a long painful process of burning to death; Marina swarmed by Trackerjackers until she's swollen to twice her size before she explodes in a shower of blood and skin; Cato tearing Katniss apart while I watch helplessly.

I wake up gasping for air after that last dream. I can't go to sleep after that. I dread what else my mind will conjure up to torment me. Instead, I listen to the sounds of the nocturnal world around me and think of home. No doubt supper is finished already, and Father is probably sitting in his favorite chair, reading before bed. My brothers are probably visiting friends; Roy especially. He seemed to go out in the evenings more often around the time when the Reaping took place. Cain also went out, but that was mostly to carouse around the town with his mates. I'm not sure what Delly could be doing at the moment. Maybe she invited Madge over and they're doing ... girly things, I don't know. I've grown up in a house full of boys, mostly. It's beyond me what girls like Madge and Delly do when they have fun together; they probably gush about guys like Gale.

I know what I would be doing if I were at home right now, though I try not to think about it. I would be sitting near my father, pretending to do homework while I would really be sketching his profile as he focuses on his book. Sketching dad while he's unaware is something that I quite enjoy. I like capturing the different expressions that come over his face as he concentrates, and of course, being my father, I know he wouldn't have minded being drawn even if he did notice.

Thinking of those quiet moments back at home seems to give me a small measure of peace and before I know it, I slip back into slumber.

I'm awakened the next day when a rumbling sound, almost like thunder in the distance, reaches my ears, pulling me out of unconsciousness. In my fevered state, I almost rise from my bed of mud and leaves, but even the slightest movement now sets my left leg on fire, so I remain lying on my back. Is it raining? Will I have to redo the whole camouflage process over again? I wonder with a sinking heart. It doesn't seem so. The sky is still a clear blue and sun is still shining, so what was that booming I just heard? Was it something my feverish brain made up? I can't say. If I knew any better, I would think it was an explosion of some kind.

I wait to see if I'll hear anything else following that, but the forest falls silent again. The only other thing worth noting is the sound of birds whistling something, a specific four-noted tune that sounds simple enough. Had I the energy and were my mouth not so dry, I could probably whistle it myself, but as it is, all I can do is listen. The tune carries on from one bird to another for a while, but soon that falls silent as well. A sense of foreboding then comes over me. Was that a signal maybe? Is it the gamemakers's way of showing that something is coming? Whatever it may have been, I can't do much but wait and see what the next few hours will bring.

By now I have been lying by the creek for approximately five days, with no food and an infected leg that is no doubt rotting away by the minute. I honestly thought I would be dead by now, but I suppose the human body has a strong will to survive. Even so, I do know that I'm dying, and a part of me just wishes the process would speed up. I have no expectations of any sponsors sending me medicine or anything for my leg, since I basically told Haymitch to keep an eye on Katniss instead, but I hadn't expected to last this long.

Every single movement, how small it might be, is agonizing. I almost just want to die to be freed of the pain. I would have scolded myself five days ago for such morbid thinking, but five days ago I wasn't moaning and gritting my teeth, suffering from a leg that was slowly killing me. Dying quickly I don't mind. A slow and agonizing death is something I never wished for, starving but not hungry; sweating from fever even though I'm shivering from chills that wrack my body.

Morbid thoughts breed more morbid thoughts and I once again think of my family. Could they be watching me right now? It's the middle of the day, so they could be working, but the televisions never go off when the Hunger Games are taking place. I begin to whisper to my family; calling to my brothers and close friends, and wishing them happy lives, telling them how much they've meant to me and how much I love them. I say I wished I could have done more to be a better friend, a better person, and I hope that they'll remember me fondly. Dramatic, I know, but hey, that's what the audience likes. Might as well appeal to them once more before I take my last breath.

Then suddenly I hear a cannon go off and my eyes shoot open. Someone just died, but who? Most of the tributes who are still alive would be hard to kill. There is, of course, the younger kids: the boy from Ten, the boy from Three, Rue...

It must be because I'm dying that I'm having such morbid thoughts, but I can't help but predict who it could have been. I know Rue is fast and she apparently can climb trees just as well as, if not better than Katniss, but she's so young. Could she really survive till the end? I hope so. Even though my main goal was to keep Katniss alive, I decide that if Katniss ultimately didn't make it, Rue would be the one I would want to win. There is the boy from Ten too, I think. I don't know how he'd managed to survive this long with his bad leg, but his chances are pretty slim as well...

A sudden wave of dizziness hits me and I no longer think about who could be dead. I'm too busy trying to stop the world from spinning.

By the morning of the sixth day, I'm almost begging for the Capitol to do me in. Some way, any way, I just want this suffering to be over with. Over the night, the hologram in the sky revealed that two more tributes had met their end: the boy from Three and the boy from Ten. No surprise there, I can't help but think, though I hate myself for it. The boy from Ten with his limp foot would have been hunted down by the Careers sooner or later and it was only a matter of time before the boy from Three would no longer be needed. I just wish I could join them, even if it would be a brutal death.

As I further slip into delirium, the differences between reality and dreams begin to blur. I can't tell sometimes if I'm awake or if I'm asleep. I begin to almost travel back into old memories, seeing them as if from an outsider's perspective.

 **. . .**

 _I can see myself, at the vulnerable age of twelve, shivering and fighting back tears while sitting on our back doorstep. That day was the big day, my first reaping, and even at the young age of twelve, I knew full well what that could mean. I'd been watching the games since I was old enough to walk. I was terrified that my name could be chosen; that I would be one of the twenty-four to be swallowed up in a flood, or hunted down and annihilated while hiding in the ruins of an old city. Both of my brothers had gone through previous reapings and were still with us, but that didn't stop me from expecting the worst. I was so scared from thinking about it that I had spilled a good amount of flour at breakfast that morning, and had received a generous slap from my mother in return. Huddling outside on the familiar step was all I could do to escape her wrath._

 _The door opens and I watch my younger self brace for impact. I know it's only Roy though and I watch him sit down next to me. He doesn't speak, just watches me quietly as I scrub some unwanted tears that had fallen down my cheeks. He doesn't help with me with my stinging cheek or put his arms around me. Instead, he just puts his hand on my head to get my attention._

 _"Your name's only in there one time. They won't pick you." He says firmly._

 _I didn't say anything. I didn't stop crying either._

 _He sighs and shakes his head. "Many other kids your age have their names in five times or more. They have more reason to be crying than you do."_

 _Suddenly something slip onto my lap and I stop crying long enough to notice it's my sketchbook that I kept hidden. I look up to see him smiling ever so slightly._

 _"How'd you know?" I whisper. I had been trying to keep my hobby a secret for fear of being mocked for it._

 _That makes him chuckle. "We share a bedroom. I'm not stupid, Peeta. I'm sure it comes in handy, huh?"_

 _I scrub more tears away and look down at the book. He brought a pencil as well. With a small nod, I flip it open and begin to scribble away, not really drawing anything, just venting all my pent up emotions. After a couple of minutes, he leans over to look at my work and nods._

 _"Not bad. Are you okay now?"_

 _I sniff and tell him that yeah, I'm okay, even if it's not exactly true. After that, when the time to leave for the reaping comes, it's Roy that I cling to for support._

 _I didn't say goodbye to either of my parents._

The next few hours continue on like this. My brain keeps firing up different memories, almost as if I'm seeing my life pass before my eyes.

 _Now my mind drifts back a couple years before that, when I was around nine or ten years old. Cain had run away right before the day of reaping, but had been dragged back that night. I could hear mother screaming and beating him as punishment, despite huddling under my blankets in our bedroom._

 _Cain never cried though. He was too defiant for that. When it was over and he was laying on the bed, I peered out from under the covers to see him curled up in a fetal position. Only one strangled sob came out of him before our eyes met and he shut up. It didn't end there, however. Father came in a few minutes after that, perhaps to comfort him in his own way. He sat on the bed, facing Cain's back and reached out to put a hand on him. He didn't notice me, but I saw everything that happened next._

 _Father's hand rested on Cain's head, but my brother jerked away, curling up into himself further._

 _"Cain.." Father tried to speak. He was met with silence, so he tried again. "Cain, you must understand..."_

 _"I understand." Cain muttered. "I understand that you didn't do anything while she was whipping me."_

 _I could see the extreme anger and resentment in my brother's eyes as he stared straight at me. One eye was already swelling shut. His pillowcase had traces of blood on it._

 _"Cain..." Father whispered._

 _"You're a coward..." he hissed. I could see tears pooling in Cain's eyes now. "A rotten coward."_

Tears are running down my cheeks now and I curse inwardly. I can't have my disguise ruined like this. I'm already weak enough, raising my hand up to fix the mud on my face is like lifting a heavy weight.

 _Stop crying, you weakling. Crying does you no good._

I know Cain firmly believed in that, and in our house, it was very true. Crying never did anyone any good. It just made the beatings worse...

That's when I hear it, disrupting my dark thoughts: birds singing. But they're not singing in the way most birds sing, with chirping and tweeting. It's almost like they're mimicking an actual person.

"Mockingjays.." I whisper. It's obvious. I'm surprised I hadn't thought of it before. Mockingjays were another form of mutt, a hybrid between mockingbirds and the Capitol jabberjays which were creatures bred to spy on enemies by mimicking voices to gather secrets. The Capitol had let loose the jabberjays into the wild after the war, and they mated with mockingbirds to create the Mockingjay. Now, instead of mimicking speech, the Mockingjay mimics singing voices instead.

I listen as the birds begin to sing.

 _Deep in the meadow, under the willow,_

 _A bed of grass; a soft, green pillow..._

That voice. I've heard it before, I think, but where?

 _All right, class. Let's all gather round for a song._

 _Another memory. This time, I'm five years old, shyly sitting on an old, frayed rug in the middle of the kinder classroom. My teacher, a Miss Nickelby, was trying to corral us all together for song time. It was right before lunch, so we were all more than a little distracted._

 _Miss Nickelby, young, thin, inexperienced; probably no more than seventeen years old, clapped her hands a couple of times to catch our attention._

 _"Come on, children! It's time to sing! Who here knows the valley song?" She exclaimed._

 _Well, I certainly didn't know it. There was no singing in my house. I did spy a hand shoot up in front of me and a small voice exclaimed,_

 _"I do! I do, teacher!"_

 _The lady in question seemed relieved. "Okay, Miss Everdeen. Why don't you come up and sing it for us?"_

 _A small girl wearing a plaid dress and with two brown braids hanging down her back hopped up to the front of the classroom. She folded her hands behind her back and began to sing once Miss Nickelby took out a guitar and began strumming._

 _Oh, the desert dreams of a river that will run down to the sea,_

 _Like my heart longs for an ocean to wash down over me._

 _Oh, won't you take me from this valley_

 _to that mountain high above?_

 _Oh, I will pray, pray, pray till I see your smiling face._

 _I will pray, pray, pray to the one I love..._

 _I stared transfixed as the little girl sang in a sweet, steady voice. It was enough to shut up the rest of the rambunctious children. Even the birds chirping outside stopped to listen._

"Katniss..." I mutter. It's her voice that I can hear through those Mockingjays, and it's her voice that moved me when we were little children. I haven't heard her sing since then, so to hear the birds mimicking her voice now almost makes me cry again. If only I could see her one more time, I think before unconsciousness takes over yet again.

I'm still not dead yet, though. Somehow I still manage to hold on to life, even after passing almost an entire day asleep. It's all I can do now, really, and I hope that that's how I'll go. Dying in my sleep doesn't sound like too bad of an option, and I have a feeling that's probably what will happen to me now. I'm sleeping most of the time, and when I'm awake, I lie in a daze. My vision has become almost completely impaired and I can't focus on anything besides the fact that I'm freezing even while lying in the sun with warm mud all over me.

"Won't be long now," I mutter probably for the thousandth time. But this time, it really does feel like it. Not only have I had a fever for the past several days, I've been extremely sick as well. Whatever fluids were left in me have all exited my body in some form or other. I'm only glad I'm covered in mud to disguise this. It's been a painful process, but with each increased beating of my heart, I know my body is going into the final stages of shut-down.

"Attention all tributes!"

Cladius Templesmith's voice suddenly echoes through the night sky. Oh great. What does he want? Can't the games just be finished already so I can die in peace? Can't they just finish me off?

"Attention all tributes, there's been a rule change in the Games!"

Well this is certainly news. Okay, I think, I'll bite. What rule has been changed? I didn't even know there were rules, really.

"There can now be two tributes declared the winners, if they both come from the same district."

My eyes shoot open and I'm able to shove everything aside: the fever, my rotting leg, the nightmares and bad memories, all of it fades away as I listen to the voice.

"I repeat," Templesmith speaks again after a brief pause, "two tributes are allowed to win the games, but only as long as they both come from the same district! Thank you, and May the odds be ever in your favor!"

And that's it. Broadcast over. I stare up at the sky as the Capitol seal fades away and I take a minute to process this new information. Two tributes can win if they're both from the same district. As far as I know, Katniss is still alive, and so am I - barely. This changes everything. My plans are needless now. We can both go home.

And yet, here I am, unable to move, dying of fever and infection, and unable to locate my fellow tribute.

"Now you tell me..." I mutter.


	15. Chapter 15

**A.N.:** I just want to thank all of you who have been following this story so far. I really love the character of Peeta, and after rereading the books again a while back, thought it would be fun to tap into this character and see what his thoughts might have been throughout this story. I had no idea others had thought of this too when I started writing this, lol. But hey, it's been great in analyzing this character. I hope I'm doing him justice and I hope you all enjoy this. I think I've got only about two-thirds of this story left! Anyways, I do appreciate everyone who's checked this out! Y'all are great!

Oh, and fyi, the little song I put in the last chapter is actually a real song done by the duo called The Civil Wars. Check them out. They're really great folk/bluegrass singers. I even think they were used in the first Hunger Games soundtrack! Anyways, let's continue.

* * *

 **Part 3: The Victors**

Two tributes can now be the winners. It's almost ludicrous. I almost wonder if it's the Capitol's sick way of punishing me for pulling a fast one on them during the interviews. Although, maybe it's the opposite. Maybe the Capitol wants two tributes to win because of my proclamation of love for Katniss. The audience probably can't abide to see the star-crossed lovers die.

That's all well and good, I think, but it's a little too late for me now. I'm done for unless Katniss suddenly shows up out of the blue. That is, if she is even looking for me...

I mentally kick myself for that last thought. I should have more faith in her. While I did make it look like I was out to kill her, she should know by now that it was all a playact. I basically showed the whole of Panem that I wanted to save her when I distracted Cato from hunting her down after the Trackerjacker attack. Plus, I have a sneaking suspicion that it would be frowned upon back at home if Katniss decided to leave me to die. Twelve has hardly had any tributes survive the Games. Two survivors would be an added bonus.

No, I tell myself. I'm sure she'll look for me. Maybe not today, but perhaps tomorrow or the day afterwards. I do hope she hurries, though. I don't have much time left.

Another day passes by in a daze. It really is getting old, just lying by the water as the hours go by, but at least my camouflage seems to have worked for the most part. Nothing has noticed me; I even watched a fox walk casually past at one point, either ignorant to my presence, or just ignoring me since I'm not a threat. As for myself, my state is pretty much the same: feverish, sick and in pain. It's all I can do to keep down water. I had considered just doing away with it altogether, but that thought is gone now, especially since there's the chance that Katniss could come for me and we could both get out of this alive.

If that does happen, where would that leave us? Would I get a chance to get to know her better? Maybe I could invite her to the bakery when we get home and show her what little talents I do posses. I don't know if she likes sweets, but I could make her some cookies or something. I could ask her about her many hunting expeditions too. Who knows? We might actually get a chance to really talk about that afternoon with the bread and form a true friendship...

I'm able to distract myself from the constant throbbing of my leg with those pleasant little fantasies. I don't even realize that I've soon dropped off to sleep. Something feels odd about the next day when I wake up, though. Perhaps it's the shift in temperature that I feel, or maybe it's the fact that the water of the creek hasn't diminished at all as it usually does. I've noticed that over the past week or so since I've been in the arena: every day the water of the creek seems to have drained little by little, probably so people can't drink from it as readily as they can with the lake. But not this time. I'm still watching the water ripple by with little to no change.

The sun also seems to be hidden today by several clouds, and they look ominously gray. I wonder if a storm is coming soon. With a sigh, I prepare for another day of just watching the trees and sky. Or I could sleep more. Yeah, that sounds good to me.

I've nearly dropped off again when I think I hear the sound of boots upon the rocks a few yards away from me. My eyes open a little, but it's not like I can see anything from my spot, so instead, I continue to listen. Whoever or whatever it is, they're coming my way. I can't be sure, but the footfall doesn't sound heavy enough to belong to either Cato or Marvel. I suppose it could be Clove, though. Maybe the girl from Five. I decide to shut my eyes and breathe slowly through my nose. I have to be as quiet as possible to go unnoticed.

 _"Peeta! Peeta!"_ The Mockingjays nearby are mimicking the tones of someone's voice calling my name. It's kind of eerie. Despite that, my eyes shoot open in surprise. It only takes me a moment to recognize the voice they're mimicking: Katniss's.

My heart begins to beat faster as hope swells in my chest. She really did come for me. Well, I knew she would, but still. The realization that she's been trekking through the woods at her own risk of being hunted down by the remaining victors, just to find me, sends a warmth through me. And it's not from the fever, either.

I hear the sound of her boot splashing into the stream but I can't see her from my hiding place by the rocks. It doesn't matter though, she's here. I haven't felt this elated since, well, I can't remember when. She soon appears in my peripheral vision and I'm so happy to see her, my mood lightens up a little and I'm able to jokingly ask,

"You here to finish me off, sweetheart?"

I can barely speak, and it seems she can barely hear me, but she does pause. Her head whips back and forth as she tries to look for me.

"Peeta!" she whispers, trying not to make herself too conspicuous. "Where are you..?"

Just saying that slight phrase was enough to tire me out. I take a moment to rest so I don't answer her right away. I do catch a glimpse of her still looking around for me, glancing my way at one point, only to look away a moment later. I have to shut my eyes after a moment though, I'm just so tired.

"Peeta?" She whispers, slowly making her way along the bank. Soon, she's right next to me and I open my eyes again, looking up at her face.

I can't help but smile. "Well, don't step on me," I tease. I see her jump back with a gasp. It makes me laugh.

She narrows her eyes as we stare at each other. "Close your eyes again," she orders. I do so for a minute, figuring she probably wants to observe my camouflage more. I can hear her kneeling into the leaves beside me and open my eyes to see her closer to me.

"I guess all those hours of decorating cakes paid off," she remarks.

"Yes, frosting," I smile. "The final defense of the dying."

She frowns. "You're not going to die."

"Says who?" I mutter, closing my eyes again. I sure feel like I'm going to. I even feel exhausted just by talking for only a couple of minutes.

"Says me," she answers firmly. "We're on the same team now, you know."

That makes me open my eyes to look up at her. "So I heard. Nice of you to find what's left of me," I answer jokingly, though I'm also partially in earnest.

I hear her sigh. "Well, whatever is left of you, I'm gonna try to get out of here. Want some water?"

"Sure." Don't know if I'll be able to keep it down, but it's probably better than what I've been drinking for the past several days.

"Did Cato cut you?" She asks me, offering to put her water bottle up to my lips.

"Yeah, left leg. Up high," I answer after taking a sip. The water is cool and it tastes good. It's obvious she was able to purify it in some way, I think as I look up at her. I can tell how much she must have been through, just by glancing at her. Her hair, still braided, is considerably shorter than before. It must have gotten singed by the fireballs. She's paler than before as well, and her cheeks have considerably thinned out. There's also an emptiness in her eyes that I haven't seen before, but I understand. Watching kids die does that to you.

Even so, I'm just so happy to see her alive and relatively well; or at least, as well as can be in our circumstances. God knows, she's better off than I am. I wish I could put my arms around her and hug her, telling her how ecstatic I am to see her. A kiss wouldn't be too bad, either, I can't help but think. I mean, we are supposed to be star-crossed lovers, right?

"Let's get you in the stream, wash you off so I can see what kind of wounds you've got," she says, obviously not on the same track of thought as I am.

"Lean down a minute first," I whisper. "Need to tell you something." To my secret delight, she complies. She tilts her head so her right ear is close to my face. I could kiss her if I wanted to, but I'm hurt enough already. I don't need more injuries. So instead, I teasingly murmur,

"Remember, we're madly in love, so it's all right to kiss me anytime you feel like it."

Look, I'm know I'm dying. Even with Katniss's help, I could go in any day. Getting a kiss from the girl I like would be nice before I depart this earth, so I can't help myself from being a little bold. It's not like I'm forcing her to kiss me or anything; just slipping her a little hint. Plus, it would make the audience love us too.

Katniss jerks away from me, but fortunately, she handles my remark well. She actually laughs. It makes me smile.

"I'll keep that in mind," she smiles back. "But first, I'm gonna move you to the stream."

I can't help but wince a little. Moving has become almost near impossible for me, at least, without enduring extreme pain. The bank of the creek isn't even that far away, but there is a slight incline. Before, I had been able to bend over to it to get some water, but in the past couple of days, that was no longer an option. My leg shoots sharp barbs of pain up my body with just the slightest of movements, and I'm too weak to even lift my head.

Even so, I grunt in response. "All right," I mutter.

Taking a deep breath, she gets up and kneels behind me. Linking her hands up under my armpits, she starts to tug. And tug. Again and again, but I'm so stuck in the mud and leaves that I used to disguise myself, it's like I'm buried in quicksand. Plus, the jerky movements from her make my leg bump against the ground and it's excruciating. I hate myself for being unable to stay quiet, but it hurts so badly. No amount of mud or water was able to dumb down the pain. Honestly, I think I only made it worse.

She sighs and puts her hands on my shoulders for a moment to give me a brief break.

"Sorry. I have to," she whispers.

"Yeah. I know. Just do it." I hiss out. I bunch my hands into fists. Katniss's hands take hold of my arms firmly and with one great tug, I'm out of the mud and brambles. But my leg. I feel like it's on fire, a sharp blade cutting me to the bone again. I'm out of the pit I made for myself, but I can't move for a minute, too incapacitated by the pain. I can feel hot tears running down my face and gritting my teeth is all I can do to refrain from letting out a howl of anguish.

Katniss is next to me again and her hand is on my back. "Look, Peeta," she speaks. "I'm going to roll you into the stream. It's very shallow here, okay?" She talks quietly and calmly so that I listen to her.

"Excellent," I grouse out through clenched teeth. I look up from the ground to see her above me, with her hands holding my sides.

"On three. One, two, three!"

I brace for impact and she pushes me over on my back. Then I'm on my stomach again and my leg is screaming; I'm screaming. The water is closer, but I almost want to shove Katniss away so she won't roll me anymore. The pain is so bad I'm beginning to feel dizzy and I almost hear more of an echo of myself screaming rather, from how lightheaded I am.

She's beside me again, but she makes no move to push me or anything. Instead, she places her hand on my shoulder.

"Okay.." She says hesitantly. "Change of plans. I'm not going to put you all the way in."

She seems to feel sorry for me. Either that or she doesn't want to hear me howling anymore. I would understand either sentiment.

"No more rolling?" I ask hopefully.

"That's all done," she assures me. "Let's get you cleaned up. Keep an eye on the woods for me, okay?"

"You bet." I answer exhaustedly. My leg is slowly going back to its achy throbbing as I just lie there, staring up at the sky.

I can't imagine what I must look like to her. My clothes are all so dirty, I can't even tell what color they are anymore. I probably stink to high heaven, too. And beyond that, well, I've gotten pretty banged up throughout this entire week or so in the arena. Cleaning me up is going to be quite an arduous task. I wish I could help her, but it takes all my strength to keep my head up to watch the forest. I can hardly lift my hand.

"Katniss..." I mutter.

"It's fine," she quickly interrupts me.

"But I-"

"No." She stops me again. "I said it's fine." She goes over to the stream and sets two bottles down into the stream. Then, with a water skin, she begins to pour water over my head. I'm subjected to several bouts of dousing before she can finally find my jacket and shirt. I don't mind, though. The water feels good on my hot skin.

Katniss undressing me in a different situation might be rather interesting, but here, I'm just relieved to be free of the burdensome clothing. With my undershirt, and my shirt and jacket, I feel like I'm burning up. And with each baptism of water, I let out a sigh of delight and daydream about how good a bath would feel right about now.

My jacket and shirt are soon off and soaking in the stream. All that's left is my undershirt which is almost glued to my skin. I've been punched, kicked, burnt and stung, and a combination of blood, burns and oozing pus has basically formed a plaster that keeps my shirt stuck to my chest. Katniss even needs to use her knife to cut it off of me. Once the pieces are peeled off, she sits back and takes a good long look. Again, this could be interesting under different circumstances, but I know she's surveying the damage. She doesn't seem to be too perturbed about it, either, stings and all. Well, judging by the look of her, she seems to have found some medication for the trackerjacker stings.

With what little strength I do posses, I help her drag myself up to sit against a boulder. Well, partially, anyway. I'm more propped up against it, rather than sitting up. It's better than lying in what had become a mud puddle from all of the washing, though. She continues to do this, however, running water down my head and face, until she says I'm visible again. I feel like a cat, closing my eyes as she runs her hands through my hair to get the dirt out. Many might not expect it, but she's surprisingly gentle.

"Thank you," I mutter.

"Don't thank me just yet," she answers. "I still have to take care of...the rest of you," she finishes grimly. It's obvious she's not looking forward to treating my wounds. I refrain from laughing and rest my head against the boulder.

My suspicions were right in Katniss having some sort of medication for the stings. She applies bunches of leaves or herbs to my stings after removing the Trackerjacker stingers, and what pain I do feel is replaced with soothing relief moments later. Basking in the sun, I take a moment to enjoy the relief of my healing wounds. There's still my leg to deal with, of course, but neither of us want to go there just yet.

Katniss soaks my clothes in the stream and I try to push myself up more. I don't like to see her doing everything herself.

"Stop it," she orders me. "You'll just wear yourself out."

"But you shouldn't have to.."

"You would do the same for me." She answers shortly. That makes me stop and I shut my mouth. She's right. I would do the same for her. I was ready to die for her.

"Now, I'm gonna let those soak. Let's take care of that burn on your chest," she says in a business-like manner. I almost want to tell her that it doesn't bother me. The idea of her touching me makes me feel things that I don't know if I'm prepared to feel, but the look in her eye obviously states that she won't take no for an answer. Even with the slightest touch, I wince from the stinging. The area from where the fireball grazed me is inflamed and blistering. With my leg and all, I had almost forgotten it.

"You got hit pretty bad," she muttered.

I look away. "Could have been worse. At least it wasn't my face."

She hums. "True."

Glancing back at her, I spy her taking out a small jar that's filled with some sort of cream. With her fingers, she smoothes the cream over my burn and once again I let out a sigh at the feeling of relief. I shiver too, from the cool cream on my chest. Mostly. Well, partially. All right, so a part of me is affected by her fingers on my bare skin, but that's not all. I've been so warm from this fever that anything remotely cold makes me shake.

Nothing gets past Katniss. "You're burning up," she stated.

"Yeah," I answer. "I've been like this for a few days."

"Do you feel dizzy? Lightheaded?"

"Sometimes," I answer again. It's probably best not to lie to her.

"We have to get your fever down," she decides. "Here. Swallow these." She digs around in her pack and retrieves a first aid kit. In the kit is a bottle full of pills that she offers me. She tells me that they're for reducing body temperature. Once again, I hope I can keep them down.

"You must be hungry," she says as I down the pills with some more water. I can see her eyeing me, and I glance down at myself. I see what she means. I've become considerably thinner. Probably from lack of food over the past couple of weeks.

"Not really," I answer. "It's funny. I haven't been hungry for days."

"That's your fever talking. Here, try eating a little bit." She pulls out what looks to be meat of some sort and offers it to me. I want to try to eat it, I really do. I know it would be better for me if I did, but just with the slightest whiff of the food, my stomach begins to churn and I have to turn my head away from the smell or I know I'm going to puke.

"Peeta. We need to get some food into you," she orders firmly.

"It'll just come right back up," I weakly try to argue. The water she had given me not to long ago was even starting to make me feel queasy.

"How long has it been since you ate anything?" She asks.

I tilt my head back on the rock to think. "The last time I ate was probably the day we chased you up that tree." I admit, and even then I hadn't eaten much that day either.

"So that's at least five days. Have you been drinking a lot of water?" She asks again.

"Well, whatever I can keep down.."

She lets out a long sigh. "You're going to starve yourself without even knowing it. You should at least try to eat something light," she urges.

"I don't think-"

"Please." She speaks quietly but firmly and we take a minute to look at each other. I begin to think back to that rainy afternoon with the bread. Katniss knows what it's like to be starving. She was starving then and probably was witnessing little Prim on the verge of starving to death as well. She's left herself open for a moment. I can see in her eyes that she doesn't want to watch another person go the same way.

"All right," I finally comply. "What have you got?"

She fishes around in her pack again. "Well, if you don't think you can eat the groosling, I have some dried fruit. That might be easier on your stomach."

I nod. "Let's try it." She gives me bits of dried apple and scrutinizes me as I nibble on some pieces. I wonder where she was able to get it from as I don't recall there being apple trees or anything like that in the arena. Surprisingly, I'm able to get two or three pieces down, even if lifting my hand to my mouth is draining.

"Thanks," I say after swallowing one more slice. "I'm much better now. I promise." She doesn't seem to believe me, but she nods. I just hope she's willing to let me off easy. "Can I sleep now, Katniss?" I then ask. I don't want to move or eat anymore. After listlessly lying around by the stream for days, sleeping is all I want to do.

There's a flicker in her eyes of, dare I say, pity. "Soon," she promises quietly. "But I need to look at your leg first."

"Well, I guess it was inevitable," I sigh. Once again, I prepare for the onslaught of agony when she orders me to unbutton my pants. They have to be removed in order for her to inspect the wound. She tries to be gentle as she slowly tugs them off, but I still end up grunting and hissing with each brush of fabric against my wound.

I thought my cut was bad the first couple of days by the stream. Now it's worse. It's bright red and inflamed, oozing pus and even some blood. I suppose the cut had opened up again after all the tugging and rolling, and it hurts more than ever. It smells too, like rotting flesh. It makes my stomach turn. Katniss doesn't look so good either. I can see her turning green around the gills as she looks at my leg.

"Pretty awful, huh?" I remark. I can tell she's thinking just that. Of course, she puts on a tough act and merely shrugs.

"So-so," she says flippantly. I can't help but smile.

"You've seen worse?"

"You should see the men they bring to my mother from the mines," she answers. "They're ten times worse."

"Oh, right. Your mother's an apothecary, isn't she?"

"Of sorts."

"And she would know how to treat this?"

"Yeah, but I'm sure I can figure something out," Katniss responds, a little stiffly. It's amusing to see how quickly I seem to have annoyed her. I guess her pride has been pricked. "First thing is to clean it well."

I look down at the gaping wound on my upper left thigh, barely below the hem of my undershorts. Even with the dirty pants removed, it's still partially covered in mud. I know we need to wash it with some more water, but I'm not looking forward to it. She helps clean the lower half of me off until most of the dirt and grime is gone and we can both now see just how red and swollen the cut is. I suppose the best way to describe it is a bright red like the sweetest, ripest apple. Then there's the pus which is a disgustingly pale yellow color that gives off an odor of its own as it's washed away. We treat some minor burns and another trackerjacker sting found on my right calf to distract us, but my cut thigh is kind of hard to ignore. It stings constantly now from the water.

Katniss still looks rather queasy, not to mention a little helpless. She obviously has no idea what to really do about the cut.

"Why don't we give it some air and then..."

I smile a little, sympathetically. "And then you'll patch it up..?"

"That's right." She determinedly nods. "In the meantime, you eat these."

More fruit it seems. She hands me some dried pears and once again I just nibble on them. I'm really not hungry. I'd much rather be sleeping. Even so, I try to eat them to placate her and I watch as she returns to the water to finish rinsing out my clothes before laying them out to dry.

"Now, let's see what I have..." she mutters to herself. She empties out the first aid kit to reveal the leaves for the trackerjacker stings, bandages, the pills for fevers, and some medicine for upset stomachs. It's slim pickings at best. With a sigh, she shrugs.

"We're going to have to experiment."

"Well, you know best," I reply.

"Right. Um, well, the poultice for the stings brings out infection, so..."

She presses a handful of the green stuff onto my swollen gash, and soon pus begins oozing down my thigh. It reeks and comes out in a yellowish-green color. I wince and turn away, not just from the stinging sensation, but from how disgusting it looks. My eyes flick over to my amateur healer and I notice how pale she looks. She almost looks as sick as I'm feeling.

"Katniss?" I hesitatingly call to her. If this grosses her out so much, I'm tempted to tell her to stop. We don't need two sick people here. Maybe if I distract her in some way, it would relax her a bit. When she looks up at me, I give her a smile.

 _How about that kiss?_ I mouth the words for her to see and point to my mouth teasingly.

She blinks and then erupts into bursts of laughter. It's so...well...cute.

"Something wrong?" I give her an innocent smile.

She just shakes her head and nervously continues to laugh. "I'm sorry... I'm...I'm no good at this," she admits helplessly. "I'm not my mother. I've no idea what I'm doing and I hate pus."

I can't help but laugh with her and playfully act surprised. "What? No way!"

"Oh shut up. You gotta admit it's disgusting! I have no idea how she's able to do this all the time!" She continues to laugh as she rinses the leaf wrappings and groans in disgust when she washes the pus off of them.

"How do you hunt?" I chuckle.

"Trust me. Killing animals is much easier than this," she answers. Then she pauses and glances at me. "Although, for all I know, I am killing you.." Her voice becomes quieter now and the mood changes between us.

I shrug. "Can you speed it up a little?"

She frowns at me. Perhaps I did say that a bit too glibly and besides, now that I know we can both go home as victors, dying in the arena doesn't seem to be as much of a necessity as it used to. Of course, if it were up to saving her so the others couldn't kill her, I'd still give myself. But if we both had the chance...

Katniss shoves more dried pears in my hands. "No," she snaps. "Shut up and eat your pears."

I have to keep eating bit by bit as she continues to drain my wound of pus. We both heave a sigh of relief once that task is done and I notice the swelling in my leg seems to have gone down a bit. Katniss then decides to apply some burn ointment on the cut, still trying to fight infection. Then, to finish up, she wraps the wound in fresh, snow-white bandages and gauze. It does feel much better. I wonder if I could attempt to walk on it?

"Here, I'll wash your shorts for you," she remarks before handing me a backpack. "Cover yourself with this."

I try to force back a smile. Really? We're going to be prissy even in an arena where we're fighting for our lives? I can't imagine how she'd have reacted if we did have to go nude during the opening ceremonies with nothing but coal dust.

"Oh, I don't care if you see me," I shrug.

She rolls her eyes. "You're just like the rest of my family," she grouses out. "I care, all right?" And then, she actually turns her back to me to face the stream. I guess she's really never seen a guy naked before. It's kind of cute. With a grin, I slip the shorts off and bunch them into my hands. What food and water she's given me, plus the medicine on my leg actually has given me some strength and I'm able to toss the clothing into the stream. Katniss immediately fetches them and begins washing them out.

"You know, you're kinda squeamish for such a lethal person," I joke and then laugh. "I wish I'd let you give Haymitch a shower after all!"

I can hear her snort in derision as I continue to chuckle. The image of Katniss trying to clean a drunk Haymitch up while closing her eyes is too funny to pass up.

"What's he sent you so far?" She just so happens to change the subject.

"Nothing." Then it hits me. So far? It must mean that Katniss has received gifts from sponsors. Well, that burn ointment does seem pretty expensive looking, I think. "Why? Did you get something?" I ask.

"Well..yeah. The burn ointment. Oh, and some bread.."

I can tell she feels a little embarrassed about it, seeing as I didn't get anything. Well, it's not like I needed anything at first anyway. Although, some medication for my leg would have been nice, I can't help but think.

"I always knew you were his favorite," I sigh.

"Please. He can't stand to be in the same room as me," she retorts.

I shake my head and roll my eyes a little. "Because you're just so alike," I mutter.

I hear her huff but she doesn't respond. Instead, she continues to beat my shorts against the rocks silently. I can't imagine what is probably going through her head at the moment. As for myself, all this talking and moving about has worn me down again. What strength I did gain from eating and Katniss's treatment has expired by now. As she wrings the wet clothing out so she can dry them, I decide to speak up.

"Hey, do you mind if I sleep for a little while?"

She shook her head. "It's fine. Your clothes need to dry anyways."

With a hint of a smile, I close my eyes and doze off before I know it. While I am extremely happy that Katniss and I are able to form an alliance now, sleep is the only place where I can find true relief from everything. This release is only short lived, however, because Katniss is soon waking me up again, shaking my shoulder.

"Peeta, we've got to go now," she tells me as I stir.

"Go?" I mumble. I rub my eyes. "Go where?"

"Away from here. Downstream, maybe. Somewhere we can hide you until you're stronger."

Stronger, huh? I don't know if that will happen, but anything is probably better than lying out here in the mud, exposed for everyone to see, I realize.

"All right," I answer. "Toss me my clothes."

She nods and brings everything over, still avoiding eye contact, I notice. I do my best not to smirk as I try to put my shorts back on. It's still a little painful, but with my leg bandaged, I don't experience the same amount of anguish I did before. Once I'm partially clothed, Katniss decides to help me finish dressing. My pants and shirt are fore the most part dry; just a little damp in some spots. As soon as I have my jacket on, she slips her arm around my back to help me stand. We refrain from putting my boots back on, since she wants to walk through the water, so I hold them in my right hand with my left arm around her shoulders for support.

"You sure this is okay?" I ask her as we both stumble to our feet.

"Yeah. We've got to get you moving," she answers staunchly.

"Right.." I mutter back. I have to at least try walking. With my arm around her, I do my best to balance my weight on both feet, but once I put pressure on my left leg, I feel like I'm going to faint. It still feels like sharp barbs are running down my thigh.

"Come on," Katniss tries to encourage me, seeing the state I'm in. "You can do this."

I merely grunt in response and grip my boots tighter. I have to grit my teeth and bear it, I tell myself. Just move. Right, left, right. How hard can it be? Mustering up as much strength as I can, I lift my head and nod. We then continue moving, Katniss basically pulling me along as I struggle and limp. Each footstep jolts up my left leg, though, and I can't believe how excruciating it still is. My body is so weak that I'm starting to run out of breath from the exertion of merely walking and I can feel myself beginning to shake uncontrollably.

We've made it further up the stream, but still not too far from where Katniss found me. It's all I can do to not pass out by now, though. I try not to say anything, but Katniss notices the state I'm in and helps lower me down to a boulder, where I sit with my head bowed between my knees. Katniss pats my back in what is supposed to be a comforting gesture, but it's more amusing than anything. I'd probably laugh at her if I wasn't close to passing out.

After a couple of minutes, I tentatively raise my head again. Fortunately, everything has stopped spinning and the black spots have almost disappeared. I noticed Katniss is looking around, sighing to herself.

"Where to next?" I ask hoarsely.

"Well.." She glances at me. "It's no use trying to get you up in a tree, but..." She points ahead to a few large rocks that seem to be formed into the earth. Some of them are bunched together with a small hole between them and overhanging brush dangling from the opening. It almost looks like a cave.

"We could hide in there. At least we'd be out of sight from anyone passing by," she states.

I lift my shoulders in what is barely a shrug. "Good enough for me." I just want to lie down and sleep again.

Once again, she hauls me up onto my feet and I struggle with limping my way over to the cave-like structure. It's gotten worse, however. With only a couple of steps, I begin to see the black dots again. My shaking has returned as well, and my leg continues to scream at me. We barely make it into the small opening before I collapse onto the ground. It takes all of my strength to prop myself up against the boulder's wall so I can get out of Katniss's way.

"Right." She puts her hands on her hips. I think I hear her mutter something like "This will have to do," before she walks out. She's back in a few seconds, carrying pine needles, which she spreads all across the ground. Then she turns to me.

"Lie down in this," she orders, unrolling her sleeping bag. Before I can even respond, she grabs my arm and basically pushes me into it. It does help control the shivering a little, but I'm still wracked with chills. The dizziness and black spots are still around as well and I barely realize it when Katniss urges me to drink more water. I think there might have been some of those pills there as well, but my mind is in such a blur I don't seem to notice. Once the cool water is trickling down into my system, however, I find I'm able to focus a little better. I then look up to see her watching over me, a slight look of concern on her face. She tries to offer me some more dried fruit but it becomes too much.

"I'll really throw it back up, Katniss," I whisper. "I can't.."

"Fine." She puts the food aside, gets up again, and I watch as she gathers some plants together. They look like vines. Once she has several bunched up in her hands, she takes some twine from her pack and begins weaving them together in what looks to be blinds of some sort. This goes on for several minutes, in which she silently works and I merely watch her, too tired to do anything else.

Once she's satisfied with the results, she tries to hang them over the opening of the cave. A frown appears on her face and she adjusts them. Then she adjusts them again, and again. Even after a few more tries, she seems unhappy with how they look and rips the vines down, tossing them aside.

She looks so tired, so frustrated with everything. I wish I could help her. At least I can watch the entrance for her, I decide. She should rest.

"Katniss," I call out to her.

She responds and comes over to my side. As she sits down beside me, I smile up at her and watch as her face softens. Then, with the gentlest of gestures, she brushes the hair away from my eyes. It surprises me a little and I can't help but smile more.

"I just wanted to say, thanks for finding me," I say quietly.

"You would have found me if you could," she replies just as quietly. Her hand is still on my forehead. It feels cool against my burning skin.

"Yes," I agree. Suddenly I feel extremely tired. "Look," I speak again before I drop off to sleep once more. "If I don't make it back -"

I'm ready to tell her everything. About how I had planned to save her all along. How my alliance with the Careers was just a cover up. How my profession during the interview was not staged and not a lie. But before I can finish, Katniss interrupts me.

"Don't talk like that," she demands. "I didn't drain all that pus for nothing."

I can't tell whether or not that's a joke. I crack a half of a smile anyway. "I know. But just in case I don't-"

She interrupts me again. This time, she even puts her fingers on my lips, which quickly stops me. She's never done something like this before.

"No, Peeta. I don't even want to discuss it," she says firmly. She looks..upset? Angry? I can't tell. Whatever the case, I really want to tell her about everything, so I try once more.

"But I-"

My eyes widen and I'm sure my fever has spiked another few degrees from how warm I'm feeling. Katniss is kissing me. Not like before, with just a quick peck on the cheek. No, this time, she has her hand on my cheek and is pressing her lips against mine. It's rather sudden for a first kiss, and I'm almost dizzy from it due to how sick I'm feeling, but I can't help but think how nice it is. Her lips are slightly chapped but they're a lot cooler than mine. I can feel my heart beating faster and I would reach up to hold her, had I the strength to do so. My eyes shut almost involuntarily and I kiss her back.

It only lasts for a minute or so before she pulls away. Looking up into those grey eyes of hers, I barely register her pulling up the bag around me to keep me warm.

"You're not going to die. I forbid it, all right?" She says quietly.

I can't argue with her. Not now. "All right," I whisper back.

Her hand is on my forehead again, brushing away my hair. "You just rest. I'm going to look around."

Merely nodding, I watch as she gets up and heads for the entrance of the cave. Then, taking a deep breath, I look up at the stony ceiling. I can't believe that just happened. She kissed me. I hadn't expected her to, so it left me completely floored. And what's more, she seems afraid that I'm going to die. She doesn't want me to die. That thought keeps turning over and over in my fevered head as I begin to doze off.

I can hardly believe it, but... Could it be possible that Katniss really does have feelings for me?


	16. Chapter 16

I'm startled out of slumber by some sort of pressure on my lips. My sleep was fitful enough that this foreign feeling causes me to jerk up, eyes wide. Did one of the other tributes find me? Am I being inspected by some sort of animal? Could some sort of mutt be poisoning me?

No, it's just Katniss peering down at me, her face inches from mine. She must have kissed me again; her own lips the pressure I was feeling. This realization brings a delighted smile to my face. I could get used this, I think. Katniss kissing me like this is something I would never have dreamed could happen, and now it's happened to me twice. I can't help but let out a happy sigh and watch her as she backs up a little.

"Peeta, look what Haymitch has sent you," she speaks in a singsong voice. It's a tone I have never heard from her and, well, it's just so _odd_ coming from _her_. I can't help but chuckle.

"What is it?"

She holds up a small black pot and I can hear what sounds like liquid splashing around inside. Is it medicine maybe? Some sort of food? Removing the lid, I catch of whiff of what smells like herbs and maybe chicken. Steam wafts up to the ceiling of the cave.

"Oh.." I state calmly. "Broth."

"Yep," she answers. "It'll help you get better. You should try some."

I lean in to get a better look at the pot. One sniff of the stuff inside and my stomach rolls. With a small groan, I turn my head away before I feel even more nauseous.

"I don't think I can eat that," I mutter.

She heaves a sigh. "You have to. Come on, it'll build your strength back up."

I shake my head and squeeze my eyes shut. Katniss doesn't say anything at first, and I have a feeling she's getting exasperated.

"Please?" She finally grouses out.

"You want me to just throw it all back up?" I counter. "I'm not hungry anyways."

Another sigh of frustration. I know it's not wise for me to annoy her, but my pride is speaking more than my common sense. The last thing I want is her seeing me puke all over the cave floor.

"You ate the fruit though," she argues. "Just eat it. It's basically liquid."

I can hear the sound of metal hitting metal and when I open my eyes to look at her, she is shoving a spoon at my face. Broth drips down onto my shirt.

"Eat it." She demands.

"No."

Her lips thin out as she scowls at me. "Peeta. _Eat. It._ "

I just shake my head again. I can only imagine what the viewers are thinking as they watch us. We must look like a mother trying to get her child to eat food he doesn't like. Not very romantic, but I'm not feeling romantic at the moment.

"If you don't eat it, you're going to starve yourself," she tries to reason.

"I ate the pears earlier. I'm fine."

A flush creeps up her neck as she gets angrier. It's actually quite an intriguing sight. "I'm gonna shove this spoon down your throat if you don't eat this right now," she quietly threatens.

I grab her wrist in response. "I'll just spit it back up if you do."

We both glare at one another.

 _"Peeta."_

 _"Katniss."_

After a minute, Katniss scoffs and rolls her eyes. "You're being stubborn. Just try to eat it."

I'm about to utter another protest, but just as I open my mouth, she quickly leans down again and presses another kiss to my lips. I feel like I can almost taste a semblance of broth on her tongue. It's outright blackmail, but I find myself succumbing to her. My eyes slide shut and I move my lips against hers. The kiss doesn't last as long as I would like, but it gets my heart racing.

After a moment, she pulls away and I see a pleading look in her eye.

"Please, Peeta?" She whispers.

Ah man. She's got me. I feel my heart pound faster and faster and my face grows warmer.

"S-sure," I mutter. "Fine. I guess I'll try it."

She heaves a sigh of relief and spoons more broth up, feeding it to me carefully. I can feel a warm sensation trickling down my throat and into my stomach, though I still feel a nervous lurch as I get used to sustenance in my system again. After a few more spoonfuls, I try to back away from her forceful hand, but she intercepts me.

"Don't you dare. You need to eat all of this."

"Can I sleep first?" I ask. "I'm getting tired again."

She rolls her eyes. "You can sleep all you want, _after_ you eat."

I huff. "Fine. Can I have another kiss, though?"

I can tell she's doing her best to conceal how annoyed she is and she sighs. "Oh, all right."

A few kisses later, and I've downed the entirety of the broth. Fortunately, my stomach hasn't tried to force it all back up, at least, not yet.

"All right, now you can sleep," she tells me. She sets the pot aside and begins to rise up to head outside. Before she moves far enough away, I quickly catch her hand in my grasp.

"Thank you for the broth," I murmur.

Katniss nods and looks off to the cave entrance. "No problem."

"And I'm sorry," I continue. She turns and our eyes meet. "I'm sorry I gave you a hard time about eating it."

A flicker of surprise appears in her eyes for a solid moment until she works up a smile. "It's fine. Just sleep, all right?"

I nod in response and snuggle down into the sleeping bag she provided for me. I slowly let go of her hand before she walks off and my eyes soon slide shut. The broth has indeed helped my fever and even my stomach, and I have no problem falling to sleep, hoping that this broth and medicine Katniss has given me will help me recover.

The peaceful sleep doesn't last long, however. Throughout the night, I start feeling incredibly warm. I am tempted to take off my shirt, but being trapped in the sleeping bag makes it difficult so I just tug it down so my chest is exposed. At one point I think I feel something brush against me in the sleeping bag. Something cool is also pressed against my forehead while I fitfully sleep and it actually calms me down.

When I finally wake, the bit of sky I can see through the small opening of the cave is a rosy pink, and growing lighter. Yawning, I rub my face from the sweat and glance around the cave. It's a little cool out and I no longer feel sweltering hot. Sitting up, I spy a bowl of water nearby, with soaked bandages. Has Katniss been tending to me all night? It seems so, but now, she's nowhere to be seen.

A pang of anxiety shoots through me. Where is she? How long has she been gone? Why didn't she wake me up and tell me if she was going somewhere? Anything could happen to her if she was wandering around at night. There are still other tributes out there, three of them the strongest of the bunch, and probably itching to kill Katniss at the first chance they get. The only thing I can do is hope that if she is spotted, she once again foils them by scrambling up into a tree. Even so, all the supplies are here, I realize. If she is cornered, she has nothing to sustain herself this time!

I have to go find her, I decide. I have to make sure she isn't stuck somewhere, my leg be damned. I don't know how much good I would do, but I know I have to do _something!_ Despite my body still being weak and achy from my wounds and fever, I force myself up onto my legs, bracing myself against the cave wall. I gingerly put pressure on the left leg, and am relieved to see the pain isn't as bad as it was before. It's still there, of course, but I'll sweat it out.

Suddenly I think I hear slight rustling and stare at the cave entrance. I'm about to push myself off the wall to investigate when who but Katniss should appear.

Relief rolls out of me in a sigh. "Katniss.."

She's staring at me. "What are you doing?"

"I woke up and you were gone. I was worried about you," is my answer.

She simply laughs at that and strides over to me. With her help, she eases me back down so I'm sitting against the cave wall.

"You were worried about me?" She wonders. "Have you taken a look at yourself lately?"

I just shake my head. "I thought Cato and Clove might have found you. They like to hunt at night.." I mutter quietly, thinking back to those first few days I spent with the Careers. The dead eyes of the girl from Eight stare up at me from the sleeping bag at my feet.

Katniss's voice disrupts my disturbing vision. "Clove? Which one is that?"

"The girl from District Two. She's still alive, right?" I've lost track of all who have died so far.

"Yes," she answers. "There's just them and us and Thresh and Foxface." She must notice my confused expression, because she then says, "That's what I nicknamed the girl from Five."

"Oh, I see," I mutter. I hadn't really noticed her much, except the fact that she had vivid red hair. So, I then realize, the little girl Rue must be dead. I look back down at the sleeping bag and just wordlessly watch the girl from Eight die before my eyes again. Suddenly, many others join her, including Marina. They just stare, as if silently asking, "Why me and not you?"

"How do you feel?"

The kids are gone and there's just Katniss and me again. I glance back up at her and tell myself not to think about anything but the here and now. Katniss, I tell myself, is still alive and well.

"Better than yesterday," I reply honestly. "This is an enormous improvement over the mud." A smile comes to my face as she sits next to me. "Clean clothes and medicine and a sleeping bag.." I glance around the cave and at all the supplies before once again my eyes find her.

"And you.." I can't help but utter. _You're alive. You will make it out of here. You won't die.._

There's that unexpected softness in her eyes again that warms my heart. Her fingers reach out to touch my face and it gives me shivers; it's such a gentle touch. I quickly grab her hand and press her knuckles to my lips in a kiss. _You will go home,_ I want to say quietly, but no words come out. We only stare at each other. I can't imagine what she might be thinking, but I hope she can understand my feelings.

She takes a deep breath and finally speaks. "No more kisses for you until you've eaten."

I can't help but laugh a little. "All right, all right."

With a decided nod, she brings over some food, once again feeding me from the little black pot. It's some sort of berry mush and doesn't taste half bad. My stomach is a bit calmer today and I feel like I can handle food if she gives me stuff that is light, like the broth or the dried fruit. The groosling, however, still makes me nauseous, and Katniss doesn't force it on me after I refuse it.

I sip some water slowly while watching her nibble on the meat instead. While she's not looking, my eyes rove her face. Her eyes look bloodshot, and I can see dark circles underneath them.

"You didn't sleep," I realize.

She shrugs. "I'm all right."

My eyes narrow. That's a bold faced lie, I think. With a shake of my head, I pat the sleeping bag. "Sleep now. I'll keep watch," I tell her.

She looks over at me. Then at the sleeping bag, and then at the cave entrance. I can tell the offer is tempting for her, but she's wary. She doesn't want to let her guard down for a second.

"Katniss," I sigh, "you can't stay awake forever."

She frowns in thought and then nods. "All right." Setting the groosling aside, she picks up her bow and arrows and slides closer to me.

"But just for a few hours. Then you wake me, got it?" She orders.

"Got it. I promise I'll stay alert." I tell her.

"And make sure you wake me if anything out of the ordinary happens."

"Right."

"And make sure you keep eating and drinking. The food and water are right here."

I give her a gentle smile. "Katniss, just sleep for a bit."

She sighs and hunkers down on the sleeping bag that's spread out underneath her. Her head rests near my hip and I am able to reach down and stroke her hair while stretching my bad leg out. At first, she just lies there, staring up at me. Then I smile and brush my thumb across her forehead.

"Go to sleep," I whisper.

We look at one another for a little longer until she finally closes her eyes and drops off. I continue to stroke her hair, brushing strands away from her forehead. Even being singed and bloodied, her hair is still quite soft. It's a luscious dark color as well, and very pretty too, when brushed I'm sure.

I realize this is probably the closest I've been to Katniss with her being completely at ease. There's no walls or guard here now, whiles she's fast asleep. Her face looks so peaceful, and believe it or not, much younger. Beneath all the poverty and rough upbringing, she has quite a nice face: thin, triangle-shaped with high cheek bones. If I thought her smiling face was pretty, I think her relaxed, sleeping face is just as much, if not more. It's nice to see her without a care in the world for once. If only it could always be so...

The day wears on and it becomes considerably hotter. I take a sip from the flask every now and then, but I don't want to leave Katniss with nothing. As we relax there, I can feel drops of sweat begin to roll down my back and forehead. I'm not sure whether it's due to the heat or my fever now. Still, I continue to keep watch, even after the two hour mark when I was supposed to wake her. Katniss won't be happy that I let her sleep longer than she wanted, but she needs rest and everything's been pretty much the same. So far, no one has found us.

The peace doesn't last long, though. She soon stirs and sits straight up, staring around us.

"Peeta, you were supposed to wake me in a couple of hours," she admonished. "It's been three at least."

"For what?" I argue. "Nothing's going on here." I nod to the entrance of our cave to show that all has been quiet. She just shakes her head and before she can argue further, I continue.

"Besides, I like watching you sleep. You don't scowl. Improves your looks a lot," I tease. She, of course, scowls at that, and I can't help but grin. Teasing her is still quite fun. At least she hasn't killed me yet over it.

Something comes over her face, suddenly, and she quickly puts her hand on my forehead. Then my cheek. Ah, I suppose she's noticed my fever's gotten worse.

"You're burning up. Have you been drinking the water?" She questioned.

"Yes. I did take a few drinks."

She glances at me doubtfully while inspecting the flask. Then she retrieves some medicine for fevers and urges me to take it. As I gulp the pills down, she kneels at my side.

"We'd better see how you're doing.." She mutters as she gestures for me to remove my shirt. Just like it was back at the creek, I'm relieved to remove some clothing for how hot I'm feeling. The shirt itself is damp with sweat and I can't help but notice the droplets hovering on my arms and chest. As for my minor injuries, the burns have all but healed as have the stings.

We both know the big issue is my leg. With as much care as I can muster, I slowly pull my pants down until we can see the bandages on my left leg. Katniss takes a deep breath and unwraps it, but even as she does this, I already begin to notice warning signs. There's faint red veins traveling up and down my leg, beginning at the bandaged point, not to mention the slight discoloring in the middle, where my wound is. The wound itself looks even worse. While the pus is gone, the skin around the cut is a bright red and even more swollen than it originally was. It's like I have a large, red, puckered welt right in the middle of my left thigh.

"Well.." Katniss's voice is faint. "There's more swelling, but ah, the pus is gone..."

"I know what blood poisoning is, Katniss," I quietly tell her. "Even if my mother isn't a healer." Our school system may not have been the best, but we did learn basic medical and health skills. I know full well that the lines of red I see running down my leg mean that the infection has gotten worse. I need medicine badly, and not just ordinary herbs or pills. I need advanced medicine only the Capitol can provide.

"Well," she replies hesitantly. "You're just going to have to outlast the others," she tells me. We look at one another.

"They'll cure it back at the Capitol when we win."

I wish I could believe her. I'm sure she's just telling me that to keep my spirits up, but we both know I won't last much longer like this, especially in this heat, unless I get some medicine real soon. I don't argue or debate however. I just smile.

"Yeah. That's a good plan," is all I say. Then we both fall quiet, not sure what else to say really. I just stare at my leg as she wraps it with new bandages. Katniss then rises to her feet and puts her hands on her hips.

"You have to eat," she states, as if thinking aloud. "Keep your strength up." Then she turns to me. "I'm going to make you soup," she decides.

Soup? It's way too hot for soup, let alone to make it.

"Don't light a fire," I urge. "It's not worth it."

All she says is "We'll see," before marching out into the open. I sigh and shut my eyes, resting my head against the rock wall. It's so hot now, not even the shade or my sweaty cheek against the wall of the cave brings relief. Everything is just burning and sticky. My tongue feels practically like a dry lump of meat as I drift it over my chapped lips. Drinking water brings relief, but only for a short moment.

It hadn't been this hot when I was lying by the creek. The Game Makers must have done something with the heat of the arena to make it this sweltering. My head feels like it's spinning and I rest my hand against my forehead in an attempt to calm the spinning down. What I wouldn't give for a dip in an ice cold bath, or maybe some scissors to shave my head so it wouldn't stick to my neck and forehead.

My mind wanders to Katniss and I wonder how she's faring. While I'm just sitting here, she's actually walking around and working to find ingredients for soup. No doubt she's just as warm as I am. I check the water to make sure there's still enough for her before shutting my eyes again. If we get home; if I survive this leg, I need to find some way to thank her. She's saved my life and the least I can do is show her how much I appreciate her. I think about the kisses we've shared so far and I can't help but smile. It's obvious how she's not used to such things, and for that fact, I'm not exactly an expert either, but every kiss seems to get better than the last one. At this rate, I'll just keep falling for her more and more.

I hear footsteps upon the floor of the cave and force my eyes open to see Katniss has returned. Normally, I would give her a big smile, but my lips hurt from being chapped so much that I can hardly work up a smile at all.

"You look terrible."

I huff amusedly, too weak to laugh. "I feel terrible," I admit.

"We just have to keep trying to get your fever down," she mutters. She applies more cool cloths to my forehead but they do little to help. "And this heat isn't making anything easier."

With a sigh, I slowly place my hand on her shoulder and weakly push her to sit down. "You should relax for a moment. I'm sure you're just as hot as I am.."

"Not nearly," she answers, a slight hint of amusement in her voice. I watch her hunker down next to me and we both stare out of the cave's entrance. Visible heat waves dance before our eyes and it's incredibly quiet out there. Whatever the other tributes were doing before, odds are they're all probably now just trying to stay cool.

"Do you want anything?" She suddenly asks.

There's a million things I want, I muse, but none of them accessible at the moment.

"No thank you," I answer. Suddenly, an idea comes to me. We're not doing anything, she obviously doesn't want to leave me alone, and I'm too weak to do anything productive. So, I should take advantage of the situation, right?

I speak up. "Wait, yes. Tell me a story." It'll be like back when we were training, when we had downtime and I was able to learn a bit more about her.

"A story?" She asks, nonplussed. "What about?"

I think back to her story about the bear. Maybe something a little more lighthearted than that. I know I would enjoy hearing something that reminds me of home, since I probably won't see it again...

"Something happy," I decide. "Tell me about the happiest day you can remember."

"Happy, huh?" She heaves a sigh and adjusts herself next to me on the sleeping bag. Shoulder to shoulder, and hip to hip, we sit together as she begins to think of a story. I want to sleep, to just drift off into a dream world to escape the heat, the pain and the thirst, but I force myself to stay awake to hear her tale.

"Did I ever tell you about how I got Prim's goat?" She asks. I shake my head no. She hasn't told me much about her home life at all. I don't even think I knew Prim had a goat. I keep that to myself, though, and wait for her to begin.

She spins this quaint little tale about how she asks her mother if she can trade an old silver locket for money to surprise Prim with a present for her tenth birthday. After obtaining enough money, she says she went looking for fabrics for a dress when she spotted someone called the Goat Man.

"He's this old man who somehow earned enough money throughout his life to purchase some goats to breed, and that's how he preoccupies his time. He's got a hacking cough and his joints are gnarled and swollen so that it's hard for him to stand up or walk. He's filthy, impatient, and ornery, but the goats are clean and produce rich milk. Well, for those who can afford their milk anyway.." She shrugs.

"Did you buy a goat for her?" I ask.

She nods, and a hint of a smile comes over her features as she recalls the memory. "There was this one goat, lying in a cart. She was white with black patches and relatively young. The problem was, her shoulder was badly mauled, probably by a dog or something. The Goat Man had to hold her up to milk her, and she hardly produced any milk at all. He was about ready to get rid of her, but I knew. If I could obtain that goat, that not only meant a pet for Prim to love and spoil, but it also meant free milk for us."

The rest of the story consists of her haggling with the Goat Man for the injured goat. He apparently planned to sell the animal to the local butcher, and the two argued about it until the lady herself arrived. After looking the goat over, Rooba (the butcher), said it was too mauled for even her to cook and turned the man down. That left Katniss the opportunity to barter with the man until she got her prize.

"Crowds began forming, everyone taking bets to see which would be the better deal: if the goat lived, or if the goat died. People took sides in the argument, but I took the goat. Then, I used what money I had left to buy a pink ribbon to tie around her neck."

Katniss's eyes then widen as she recalls the moment when she brought the goat home. "I won't ever forget the look on Prim's face. She started crying and laughing all at once, begging our mother to help in healing the animal. Soon enough, they were grinding up herbs, and coaxing brews down the animal's throat." She smiled more and shook her head.

I slowly begin to smile. Katniss always looks so happy when she's talking about her sister. It makes me happy as well, as does the thought of her mother and Prim doing all they can to save a life.

"They sound like you," I remark. Katniss blinks and glances at me.

"Oh no, Peeta." She shakes her head fervently. "They work magic. That thing couldn't have died if it tried."

She stops suddenly, and looks down. A look of what seems like regret comes over her face and I understand. Compared to them, saving a mauled goat with a bad shoulder, I'm sure she thinks she's failing in saving a mauled kid with his bad leg.

"Don't worry. I'm not trying," I brightly remark. She looks up at me again and I goad her to finish the story.

"Well, that's it. Only, I remember that night Prim insisted on sleeping with Lady - that's what she named her - next to the fire. And just before they drifted off, that goat licked her cheek, like it was giving her a good night kiss or something." She shakes her head amusedly. "It was already mad about her."

Well, of course. Any poor soul would love its savior, especially if they tend to his wounds with such care. I can personally vouch for that.

"Was it still wearing the pink ribbon?" I ask.

"I think so. Why?"

"I'm just trying to get a picture," I reply, shutting my eyes to come up with an image in my head. It comes soon enough and it's a pleasant sight.

"I can see why that day made you happy."

"Well, I knew that goat would be a little gold mine," she says, rather quickly too.

There she goes again, I think, trying to put up a brave front to conceal any weakness of feeling she might have. She's too funny.

"Yes, of course I was referring to _that_ , not the lasting joy you gave the sister you love so much you took her place in the reaping," I mutter drily, shaking my head. I wish I hadn't, though, because I now feel dizzy.

She huffs. "The goat paid for itself. Several times over, I'll have you know." I'm not looking at her, but I can just picture her nose sticking up in the air.

"Well, it wouldn't dare do anything else after you saved its life," I tease. Then I take a deep breath.

"I intend to do the same."

"Really? What did you cost me again?" She wonders.

"A lot of trouble." All this drama, you risking your life to take care of me. "Don't worry. You'll get it all back," I assure her. My plan I had from the beginning has not been forgotten.

"You're not making any sense," she grumbles. I suddenly feel her hand on my forehead and she brushes some of the sweat away. "...You're a little cooler, though.." I hear her say after a minute.

No I'm not. I feel even hotter than when she put the wet cloth on my head. I'm about to call her out on her lie when suddenly the voice of Claudius Templesmith booms throughout the air.

"Attention all tributes! I am pleased to inform you that you are all invited to a feast!"

With a sigh, I turn my head away. The spinning's coming back and I just want to lie down, not go to any feast.

"Now, hold on a minute!" The voice continues. "Some of you may already be declining my invitation, but this is no ordinary feast. Each of you needs something desperately..."

My ears perk up at that.

"Each of you will find that something in a backpack, marked with your district number, at the Cornucopia at dawn. Think hard about refusing to show up. For some of you," he puts emphasis on this last part, "this will be your last chance."

That's it. The message is over and the world goes silent again. I open my eyes to look at my companion and I see her shoulders go stiff. I don't even have to guess at what is going through her head. She's going to go after the prize; whatever they're going to flaunt at the Feast. No doubt it's some sort of medicine.

My hand shoots out and grasps her shoulder, causing her to jump out of her thoughts.

"No." I speak in a low and quiet voice. "You're not risking your life for me." You're not going to sacrifice yourself just so I can survive. _You. Are. Going. Home._

She doesn't look at me. "Who says I was?"

My eyes narrow. "So you're not going?"

She finally turns around. "Of course I'm not going. Give me some credit," she replies. Her voice is uncharacteristically high. "Do you think I'm running straight into some free-for-all against Cato and Clove and Thresh? Don't be stupid."

She grasps my arm and helps me lie back down on the sleeping bag. My eyes never leave her face.

"I'll let them fight it out," she continues. "We'll see who's in the sky tomorrow night and work out a plan from there."

My head rests on the ground and I frown up at her. There's no way that's gonna happen, with the tone of her voice, the way her eyes shift to the side... "You're such a bad liar, Katniss."

Her eyes snap up to meet mine and I stare steadily back. "I don't know how you've survived this long. 'I knew that goat would be a little gold mine'. 'You're a little cooler, though'. 'Of course I'm not going'." I can't help but mimic her voice, recalling a few times she's outright lied to me. I shake my head.

"Never gamble at cards. You'll lose your last coin," I advise.

Once again, she flushes angrily. "All right, I am going and you can't stop me!" She snaps. She gets up on her knees and reaches for her bow. I slowly sit up as well and lean closer to her.

"I can follow you. At least partway," I threaten. I won't let her out of my sight, not again. "I may not make it to the Cornucopia, but if I'm yelling your name, I bet someone can find me. And then I'll be dead for sure!"

It's obvious I'm not exactly thinking straight, but apart from the fever clouding my judgment, I'm scared. I'm scared of sitting and waiting for Katniss to come back. I'm scared that she will leave and never return; that I won't see her again. Her dying for me is not something I want to endure.

"You won't get a hundred yards with that leg," she points out.

"Then I'll drag myself," I shoot back. "You go, and I'm going too." I reach up and grasp her wrist.

"What am I supposed to do?" She exclaims. "Sit here and watch you die?"

"I won't die," is my stubborn response. "I promise, if you promise not to go."

Once again, the two of us just frown at each other, staring one another down. But this time, no amount of kisses or sweet words will convince me. This is Katniss's life at stake right now, not mine. After a moment, she grasps my hand and tugs it off of her wrist.

"Fine," she growls. "Then you have to do what I say. Drink your water, wake me when I tell you, and eat _every_ bite of the soup no matter how disgusting it is!"

"Agreed," I nod. "Is it ready?" I'm not hungry at all, but I'll shove all the food we have down if it convinces her to stay.

"Wait here," she says shortly and stalks off. I know she's mad at me, but I don't care. As I wait for her there in the cave, a cool breeze drifts in and I shiver, despite the sweat rolling down my back.

"It's getting colder.." I mutter. I tug on the collar of my shirt and kick the sleeping bag away with my good leg. I just want some air; something freezing against my skin. If it would snow right here in the cave, it would be the best thing to happen to me right now.

Katniss comes back with the soup to find me tugging my shirt off.

"What are you doing?" she exclaims.

"It's too hot.." I mutter.

With a clunking sound, she sets the pot down and swats my hands away. "You'll catch a chill if you take anything off. Stop it."

Groaning, I drop my hands to the ground and don't resist her. I'm too weak to do so anyways. Once she's convinced I won't do anything stupid, she hands me the soup, which I take and begin to quickly eat. I can hear myself telling her again and again how good it is. My words slur a little as I scrape the last bits of soup from the pot. My hands shake as the spoon heads for my mouth and some broth dribbles down my chin. Muttering to myself, I scrub the stuff off and drop the spoon onto the cave floor.

Katniss is watching me quietly and doesn't say anything when she retrieves the spoon and pot. When she heads to the cave entrance, I demand to know where she's going and she reassures me gruffly that she's only going to the creek.

"You promise?" I exclaim.

"Yes. Now lay down and don't get up." She snaps.

I do as she says and watch as her form recedes away from the cave. The next fifteen minutes or so, I lie in a stupor, dazed and head spinning. My eyes begin to feel heavy and I am ready to succumb to the tempting beckoning of sleep when Katniss once again returns. She's holding the pot again, dripping from water.

"Are you awake?"

Nodding, I prop myself up again, even though the dizziness almost makes me fall back down. Katniss grasps me by the shoulder before sitting beside me.

"I've brought you a treat. I found a new patch of berries a little farther downstream," she tells me.

Berries, huh? While I'm not hungry, I decide to let her feed them to me. A sudden tart taste bursts in my mouth, as well as something else: sweetness, like pure sugar.

I frown. "They're very sweet." It's almost sickeningly sweet, and they kind of remind me of something I've eaten before...

"Yes, they're sugar berries." She's spooning another helping up. "My mother makes jam from them. Haven't you ever had them before?" Another spoonful is pushed into my mouth, quite quickly, too.

"No," I answer. I swallow the berries again and watch her, confused. Where have I tasted this before? "But they taste familiar... Sugar berries?" I ask again to clarify. We use berries when we make certain cakes, and I don't think I've heard of sugar berries before...

She quickly shrugs. "Well, you can't get them in the market. They only grow wild." I watch as she brings another big bite of the berries to my mouth.

Something's not right. I can't help but feel as if I've tasted this sweetness somewhere else; a sweetness that made me sick or something. I rack my brain to recall any memory of this taste as I open my mouth again.

"They're sweet as syrup," I mutter. Then I swallow and it suddenly hits me. " _Syrup._ "

I see flashbacks of my mother squeezing our cheeks until our mouths open so she can shove a spoonful of the stuff down our throats. Gagging on the sweetness of it until we suddenly pass out asleep. It's sleep syrup, a common form of medication in District Twelve.

My eyes widen as I realize what Katniss is doing to me. It's like our mother forcing it upon us so she can put us to bed without supper. She's knocking me out so she doesn't have to deal with me; so she can go to the Feast. Panic sets in and I do my best to gag the stuff up, but Katniss is faster than my fevered self. She clamps a hand down over my mouth so I can only breathe through my nose. If I try to vomit the stuff up, I'll suffocate. I'm about to reach up to wrench her arm away from me, but my head grows fuzzy. My eyelids become extremely heavy, and I lose consciousness, as one last thought drifts through my head:

 _What have you done?_


	17. Chapter 17

The sounds of evening invade my dreamless sleep, making me stir. For a brief moment, I'm confused. We don't hear crickets chirping or frogs croaking back at home in town. Of course, when I open my eyes, I soon recall that I'm not back at home. I'm in the arena, hiding out in a cave with -

 _ **Katniss.**_

I quickly jerk up in a sitting position as I remember everything that happened. I was dying from an infected leg. The game makers offered a feast with items we needed to draw us out in the open to fight. I stopped Katniss from risking her life to get me that item. Then she drugged me so she could go.

The distinct coppery smell of blood fills my nostrils as I sit there and try to get my bearings despite a slight headache. Blood? Why am I smelling blood? Glancing at my side, I almost fall back down from shock. I now know where the smell is coming from. Katniss is sprawled out beside me, face down. An alarmingly growing pool of blood is coming from her head. She's not moving.

"Katniss?" I gingerly touch her cheek. She's cold.

Panic quickly sets in and I call her name again, louder this time. She still doesn't respond. I'm tempted to shake her, but I don't want to cause any further injury she might have. Instead, I slowly turn her over so she's on her back. That's when I see it, a large gash across her forehead, streaming with blood.

I grit my teeth and try to hold back a suspicious dampness that's pooling at the corners of my eyes. Dead? She can't be dead. There's no sound of a cannon. Nothing's come to pick up her body. But still, she's so pale...

"Katniss, please." I hiss, kneeling over her. "Don't be dead. You can't be dead... Give me a sign. Anything..." I scramble for something, anything to wipe this constant flow of blood from her head. My hands finally come in contact with some discarded bandages and I try to sponge the blood up.

It just won't stop coming. I put some pressure on the wound to try and staunch it further when suddenly, Katniss utters a low sound. It's faint, and I barely catch it, but I soon detect a small groan coming from the back of her throat. Relief overwhelms me and I raise my head, slowly exhaling breath I didn't realize I was holding. Katniss is alive.

"Let's fix you up," I mutter. With as much care as I can muster, I hold her in my arms to place her on the sleeping bag. Once she reaches her destination, I remove her damp shoes and socks and tuck her inside the sleeping bag, just as she had done with me. I then brush her hair away from her face and try to study the wound further. It looks like her forehead was slashed with a knife, but fortunately, it seems to just be a surface wound. I remember learning in school that cuts on the head like this tended to bleed a lot. Even as I try to gently press the bandages against the cut, blood soaks through them in seconds.

I need water, I decide. Whether my leg will hold me or not, I know I need to go out of the cave and to the creek, the place where Katniss undoubtedly has been getting water from. The wound needs washing, plus it would be nice to get rid of that puddle of blood near our feet. That's when I realize, besides a slight annoying headache, I feel more awake and alert than I'd been feeling for the past week or so, ever since I got injured. Not to mention, I'm no longer feverish or sweaty.

I tug my pants down enough to find my bandaged thigh. The red lines we had seen just the day before seem fainter. My leg doesn't hurt to the touch and I can feel that the swelling is all but gone. I turn to look at Katniss when I spy lying near her what looks like a hypodermic needle, and with it, a small orange backpack. I gingerly pick the needle up to examine it and soon locate a small welt on my bicep. Katniss did it. She got the medicine to heal my leg...

"You idiot," I mutter, looking at the unconscious girl. "I told you not to risk yourself for me, and now look at you." My hand cups her cheek, stroking it gently.

"It's my turn to take care of you," I mutter. I change her bandages, tossing the soaked ones aside and grab the small pot. Then, with a grunt, I push myself up onto my feet. I'm a little wobbly, but there's no real pain forcing me back down. I can walk now.

Limping my way to the entrance of the cave, I squeeze through the rocks and squint at the setting sunlight once I get outside. I can hear the rippling of the creek from where I'm standing and make my way over to the water, keeping my eyes on my surroundings as I walk. No one has found us yet, and fortunately we weren't ambushed when we were both unconscious. But the games are wearing on. There must only be a few of us left by now. There's no knowing when the game makers will manipulate the surroundings to throw us together.

My trip to the creek and back is thankfully uneventful, however. Once I am back in the cave, I do what I can to wash Katniss's blood away. We don't really have towels, so I make do with splashing the blood away with the water, sopping it up with the already used bandages afterwards. It's a shoddy clean up job, but I don't want to waste any real supplies when Katniss is still injured. One more trip to the creek later, and I'm now tending to her cut forehead.

She doesn't have many medical supplies left, I find out regretfully. There's still some burn ointment and pills for fevers. I also find stuff that is supposed to fight against infection, and fortunately, there's a little bit left - enough for her cut. After washing it with the creek water, I smear the cream onto her forehead. Then I cradle her head in my hands and wrap her head with fresh bandages. It seems to work, at least for the moment. The blood is still seeping through, but not as much as before. I know I'll have to keep a watch on it, changing the bandages every few minutes or so.

The sun is setting now, and the world outside is darkening. It's not too cold out, though, so I don't bother with lighting a fire. I just wrap myself in my jacket and sit next to Katniss, who remains unconscious. I am determined to watch her through the night, just as she had done for me the first night here. Her bow lies unused by her side while I just hold onto her knife for defense. I was never really good with handling a bow and arrows anyways.

As I watch the night sky darken more and more so that stars begin coming out, I once again hear the all-too familiar sound of the Panem anthem. My eyes stay focused on the sky above, and from the small entrance of our cave, I see the seal of the Capitol shining. Only one person seems to have died today: Clove.

 _That leaves the two of us, the girl from Five, Thresh and Cato._ I can't help but wonder at the fact that I'm still alive. Out of all twenty-four tributes, I'm one of the five still here, beyond all odds and expectations. And I know why.

Glancing at the girl lying beside me, I can't help but reach out and stroke her cheek again. I don't know why Katniss saved me, besides the fact that we're both from Twelve and we both can win together. Perhaps that is the only reason. But why the sudden show of affection; why all the kisses when I told her I was going to die? Our supposed love was only meant to be a tool for the audience to root for us, but it is real for me. Should I dare to hope that it is real for her too?

 **. . .**

I must have dropped off sometime during the night, because when I open my eyes, it's grey outside, and I can hear the pattering of rain. I watch as it comes down, forming almost a curtain to the outside world. The sound of it against the cave and ground is almost soothing. I smile a little as I just rest and listen to it. Then suddenly, my stomach rumbles.

I blink. I had almost forgotten what it felt like to be hungry, my infected leg made me so sick all of the time. Without a second thought, I begin to rummage through Katniss's stores and find some of that groosling she had tried to feed me when I was sick. After downing three pieces of it, I pause at a troubling realization: we don't have much left in the way of food. I need to conserve, especially with Katniss being unconscious and all. She'll need sustenance when she wakes up. I sit back, take a sip of water and stop eating. The rest of the meat will be for Katniss.

When I look to see how she's doing, I notice the bandages are slowly turning completely red. So, once again I unwrap them, clean the cut with water and disinfectant, and wrap it again with new bandages. Then, as I'm tying the pieces to secure them around her head, I notice a twitch of her eyebrows; a quiver of her eyelids. Is she waking up?

My heart beats faster with the realization that she's going to wake up. She's going be okay. I watch as she begins to move more. Her face scrunches up as she slowly regains consciousness. Leaning over her, I place my hand on her head.

"Katniss?" I quietly call to her. "Katniss, can you hear me?"

Soon enough, her eyes slowly open. I can see her metallic gaze scan her surroundings, as if trying to remember where she is. Once she spots me, she stares in shock for a moment before recognition comes over her face and she visibly relaxes.

"Peeta..."

I can't help but let out a sigh of relief, and I smile at her. "Hey. Good to see your eyes again."

She blinks. Swallows a bit and glances around herself again. "How long have I been out?" Her voice is quiet and a little hoarse. I figure she needs some water and I reach for the flask.

"Not sure," I answer. "I woke up yesterday evening and you were lying next to me in a very scary pool of blood." I glance at her bandages and note that the blood hasn't soaked through this time. Finally, after a good four or five times changing them, the bleeding seems to have stopped. I tell her so.

"I wouldn't sit up or anything just yet, though," I warn her. I bring the flask over to her so she can drink some water. Our eyes meet as she takes a sip, her hand feeling the bandages wrapped around her head.

"Careful," I quietly caution her. I lift her hand from the wrappings and hold it in mine, squeezing gently.

"You're better," she notes.

"Much better," I nod. "Whatever you shot into my arm did the trick. By this morning, almost all of the swelling in my leg was gone."

"Did you eat?" She asks.

A sheepish smile comes over my face. "I'm sorry to say I gobbled down three pieces of that groosling before I realized it might have to last a while. Don't worry. I'm back on a strict diet."

She gives a slight shake of the head. I hope it doesn't hurt. "No," she replies. "It's good. You need to eat. I'll go hunting soon."

I blink. Hunting? It will be a wonder if she can even stand. "Not too soon, all right?" I plead, worriedly. "You just let me take care of you for a while."

Her eyebrows knit together in a slight frown. "But.."

"Katniss," I urge. "Just take it easy. I've been keeping watch. We're all right for now."

She sighs a little and relents, to my relief. She really is in no state to argue, and I don't want to either, for that matter.

"Now," I say, rising to my feet. "I have eaten, so it's time for you to eat. Do you think you're up to it?"

"Yeah," she says after a minute. "What do we have left?"

"There's some groosling left, and I see some raisins." I bring them over and feed them to her slowly, giving her water as well.

Once I've seen that she's eaten the food and drinking the water easily, I tend to the rest of her. Due to the weather, it's gotten colder, and while it's too damp to make a fire, I do make sure that she's warm. Her bare feet are icy to the touch and I rub them vigorously until they feel warm again. I know it'll take more to keep them warm, however, so I remove my jacket and wrap them up, making sure there are no openings for air to seep through. All the while I urge her to continue drinking, since she's strong enough to hold the bottle up to her mouth.

"Better?" I ask.

She nods a little. "Yeah, they feel warmer now."

"Good." With that reassurance, I zip the sleeping bag up and tuck her in up to her chin. Hopefully, this will stop the slight shivering I've noticed.

"Your boots and socks are still damp," I inform her. "And the weather's not helping much."

The rain is still falling outside and we can hear thunder, followed by a flash of lightning. While Katniss watches it light up the sky, I see to the leaking that's coming from different holes in the cave. It drips down onto the sleeping bag and dangerously close to what little supplies we have left. Fortunately, Katniss in her excursions had obtained a sheet of plastic. Whatever its real use is, I don't know, but it comes in handy as cover from the rain that drips down onto her. I'm able to wedge it between the fissures of the cave and soon, she has a small canopy shielding her head. After all, the last thing either of us needs is her catching a cold.

"I wonder what brought on this storm," I say as I sit down beside her.

"Cato and Thresh," is her answer. "Foxface will be in her den somewhere, and Clove..." Katniss hesitates before speaking again. "She cut me and then..."

I nod. "I know Clove is dead," I say, so she doesn't have to speak further about it. "I saw it in the sky last night. Did you kill her?"

"No. Thresh broke her skull with a rock."

I wince. "Lucky he didn't catch you."

"He did." Katniss speaks in a hushed voice. "But he let me go..."

"He let you go?" I exclaim, amazed. "Why?"

She hesitates, but then begins explaining everything: what happened after the tracker jacker attack, her alliance with Rue, the plan to destroy the Careers' supplies, Marvel killing Rue, followed by Katniss killing him. She also tells me how she built almost a grave of sorts for the dead girl with flowers, and how she received a basket of wheat bread from District Eleven. It's a lot to take in, and I'm sure even more to actually talk about it, so I take her hand and hold it tightly as she tells me that Thresh let her go to repay her for avenging Rue's death.

"He let you go because he didn't want to owe you anything?" I wonder, confused as to the reason why he would think like that.

"Yes. I don't expect you to understand it," she murmurs. "You've always had enough. But if you'd lived in the Seam, I wouldn't have to explain."

I can't help but sigh, a little exasperatedly. "And don't try. Obviously I'm too dim to get it."

After all, I'm just a goody-goody from the Town. She's from the impoverished Seam. We're too different, brought up in very different circumstances, and so on and so on. I'd heard that all my life, and that because of this, I was told I could never empathize or understand those from the Seam. Doesn't mean I have ever believed that, though. We're all from District Twelve, right? We should all try to help one another, I think. Seems I'm one of the only ones who does, though.

"It's like the bread," she continues. "How I never seem to get over owing you for that."

That pulls me up short. "The bread? What? From when we were kids?" I ask, surprised. Then I chuckle a little and shake my head. "I think we can let that go. I mean, you just brought me back from the dead."

"But you didn't know me. We had never even spoken. Besides, it's the first gift that's always the hardest to pay back."

I want to argue back that gifts aren't meant to be repaid. That's why they're gifts. But she keeps going before I can speak.

"I wouldn't even have been here to do it if you hadn't helped me then. Why did you, anyway?" She suddenly asks.

I blink. "Why? You know why."

She blankly stares at me and shakes her head a little. Does she really not know? Didn't she hear me practically confess my feelings for her to the whole of Panem? Doesn't she believe me?

It seems not, I realize. My shoulders sag a little in defeat. "Haymitch said you would take a lot of convincing," I mutter.

"Haymitch? What's he got to do with it?"

"Nothing," I answer. Best not to bring it up now. Maybe I will if we both get out of here. I decide instead to change the subject.

"So, Cato and Thresh, huh? I guess it's too much to hope that they'll simultaneously destroy each other?" I remark grimly. After all, it would be better than either of us having to take them down.

"I think we would like Thresh," Katniss says quietly. "I think he'd be our friend back in District Twelve.."

Maybe he would be. But what's the point of thinking that this far into the Games?

"Then let's hope Cato kills him so we don't have to." I don't want to say that, because I don't want to kill anyone, but my determination to get Katniss out of here and home is stronger than anything else.

Katniss is silent. I figure she's just thinking or maybe she's falling asleep, but suddenly I hear a sniffle. Looking down at her, my eyes widen when I see her eyes are tearing up.

"What is it?" I quickly ask. "Are you in a lot of pain?"

She looks up at me with pleading eyes and whispers, "I want to go home, Peeta."

It's almost as if a little child is speaking to me, not a rough-edged girl of sixteen. It makes my throat tighten. I muster the kindest smile I can and lean down to kiss her cheek. "You will. I promise," is my firm answer.

"I want to go home now."

I wish I had the ability to grant her that wish. I'd give my life if I could, but for now, all I can do is try to comfort her. I stroke her hair. She seems to like that, I've come to notice.

"Tell you what. You go back to sleep and dream of home. And you'll be there for real before you know it. Okay?" I tell her. Sleeping is what I did a lot of them when I wished I was home as I lay by the creek with an infected leg.

"Okay. Wake me if you need me to keep watch."

"I'm good and rested thanks to you and Haymitch," I assure her. "Besides, who knows how long this will last?"

She nods a little and then closes her eyes. Soon, she's asleep and I'm left alone to keep watch and think. Yes, who knows how long the two of us can rest here, before we're forced to fight again.

Time crawls along, with nothing much changing, except the amount of rain that comes down. Thunder continues to boom and lightning continues to flash. Soon, however, the drips of rain coming through the cracks in the cave become streams, and I do my best to keep it from leaving puddles everywhere. I take the ever-useful pot and position it above one of the cracks, which is leaking the most water. Then I focus my attention on the plastic sheet above Katniss, positioning it at a different angle to cover her better.

As the sound of rain continues to drum outside and plop into the pot, I huddle up next to Katniss, trying to stay as warm as possible, and sip some water from the bottle. I'm doing all I can not to focus on my growling stomach, or the gnawing feeling of hunger that's been bugging me since Katniss fell asleep. The only thing of substance I've eaten since I've been sick is the groosling this morning. Now that I'm no longer feverish, I'm more aware of how empty my stomach is, and how thin I've become. It's been the first time in all the games that I've really felt the pinch of hunger. Before, when I was with the Careers, food wasn't much of a concern. But now, with the two of us and Katniss's small supply of meat and fruit, food becomes a priority.

Evening approaches and I decide to wake Katniss up. She must be hungry by now too, I think. Of course, I don't touch anything until I see she is awake and well enough to eat. She is able to sit up now, and assures me she isn't very dizzy. It's only then that I bring up the fact that we haven't eaten much today.

"All right, let's see what we've got left," she says. She looks as hungry as I feel.

Once we spread out the supplies on the sleeping bag, it's plain to see that our choices are extremely limited. There's only two pieces of meat left, along with some roots and dried fruit.

"Should we try to ration it?" I ask.

"No. Let's just finish it," she decides. "The groosling is getting old anyway and the last thing we need is to get sick off of spoiled food."

It's a good point and we split the food up equally between ourselves. I'm so hungry I just want to wolf down the entirety of my share, just so I can satiate the slight spasms of hunger. Katniss tries to suggest we eat slowly, but she and I both have the food gobbled up in minutes. Of course, neither of us are satisfied.

"Tomorrow is a hunting day."

I nod in agreement, hoping that the rain will have stopped by then. "I won't be much help with that," I warn her. "I've never hunted before."

She shrugs. "I'll kill and you cook. And you can always gather."

"Sounds like a plan. I do wish there was some sort of bread bush out there," I can't help but joke a little.

Katniss sighs longingly in agreement. "The bread they sent me from District Eleven was still warm..."

Well, thanks for telling me that, I can't help but think. As if I wasn't already famished enough. I glance at her. "And you wouldn't happen to have any of that still lying about, would you?"

She blinks and sheepishly shakes her head. "Well, no..."

"Didn't think so. Thanks a lot," I grumble. A sound, almost like a snicker comes from her, and I see the corners of her mouth curve up ever so slightly.

"Sorry. Here, chew these."

She hands me leaves and upon further inspection, I smell mint. I know a little about mint. Well, besides the fact that I love the taste of it, I know it's supposed to curb hunger.

We chew on them silently and watch as the Capitol seal appears in the sky. While the rain makes it harder to see, I can tell that everything is still the same. There's still the five of us left.

"I guess Cato and Thresh are still out there," I say.

"Where did Thresh go? I mean, what's on the far side of the circle?" She asks.

"A field. As far as you can see it's full of grasses as high as my shoulders. I don't know, maybe some of them are grain," I tell her. I can recall Marvel mentioning it when they all wanted to hunt for other tributes. "There are patches of different colors, but there are no paths."

"I bet some of them are grain, and I bet Thresh knows which ones too," Katniss remarks. "Did you go in there?"

"No, not really. Nobody really wanted to track Thresh down deep in the grass. We started to but soon left when they spotted another tribute. It has a sinister feeling to it." I think of when Marina and I wandered a few steps in, and how it felt like we were being watched.

"Every time I look at the field, all I can think of are hidden things. Snakes, and rabid animals, and quicksand. There could be anything in there."

She nods and falls quiet again. I just continue to stare out at the rain. No doubt, if Katniss had seen the field, she might have gone in to explore, especially at the thought that there might be grain. But even so, grain only goes so far. Whatever Thresh was able to do with it, if there was grain, he certainly wasn't making bread or anything of real substance out of it. But once again, what do I know? I'm from Town who's always had enough, I guess.

"Maybe there is a bread bush in that field," Katniss says and I spy a small smirk. "Maybe that's why Thresh looks better fed now than when we started the Games."

I chuckle a little. "Yeah, either that or he's got very generous sponsors." I sit back against the cave wall and stretch my legs out. "I wonder what we'd have to do to get Haymitch to send us some bread," I utter to myself, more thinking aloud than anything. I don't expect Katniss to reply with any ideas.

Suddenly, I feel her cold hand resting on mine. "Well, he probably used up a lot of resources helping me knock you out," she says in a way that I am surprised to find is teasing.

My eyes narrow. What with Katniss being wounded and the gnawing hunger, I had almost forgotten about the fact that she had lied to me and drugged me, not to mention she had almost gotten herself killed. Well, I'm not about to let her get away with that scot free.

"Yeah, about that." I slip my fingers between hers and hold her hand firmly. "Don't try something like that again."

She raises an eyebrow. "Or what?" She challenges.

"Or... Or..." I can't think of a good rebuff with her playfully teasing me like this. It's both frustrating and appealing at the same time and I look away. "Just give me a minute," I mumble.

"What's the problem?" She's grinning now, and I feel my face grow warmer.

"The problem is we're both still alive, which only reinforces the idea in your mind that you did the right thing," I answer peevishly.

"I did do the right thing," she stubbornly argues.

"No!" I exclaim. I'm not just frustrated now, I'm angry. My hand grips hers and I lean forward, closer towards her. "Just don't Katniss! Don't die for me! You won't be doing me any favors. All right?"

I need to make her understand, but if she doesn't know my true feelings by now, then how am I supposed to do that?

She looks startled for a moment, but soon a frown comes over her face. She leans closer to me now as well. "Maybe I did it for myself, Peeta. Did you ever think of that?" She shoots back.

"Maybe you aren't the only one who... who worries about... what it would be like if..."

She begins to stammer and I feel my heart once again beat faster. Is she saying what I think she's saying? My eyes widen a little as I stare at her face, trying to gauge what she's really feeling.

"If what, Katniss?" I murmur.

There's something going on there, some conflicting emotions that are stopping her from speaking. But I want to know. I want to hear her say it. Is she really trying to voice her feelings for me? I wait for the moment when I'll hear her tell me, but instead, her eyes skirt away to the cave wall.

"That's exactly the kind of topic Haymitch told me to steer clear of," she says.

I take a deep breath. "Then I'll just have to fill in the blanks myself." If she won't tell me, maybe I can find out how she feels by her actions. My free hand cups her cheek, and I lean in to her. Her eyes snap up to look at me for a split second before I close the gap, pressing my lips to hers.

We kiss, and I mean really kiss. It's not just her mouth on mine, or mine on hers, just touching cold or feverish lips. I kiss her and soon I feel her kissing me back. Our lips move in sync and I tilt my head for a better angle until I can taste her. It's slow, of course; neither of us really used to kissing like this yet. I hear her emit a small gasp when we stop to take a breath and I watch her quietly, studying her face to see if she wants to do it again. My thumb strokes her cheek and she looks up at me, a curious and wanting look in her eye. I'm ready to give her another kiss until I notice a suspicious splotch of red on her forehead, seeping through her bandages.

I hold back a sigh of regret and place a light kiss on her nose. "I think your wound is bleeding again," I whisper.

She blinks and touches her forehead while I lean back and rub her arm. "Come on, lie down. It's bedtime anyway."

"All right. Check to see if my socks are dry yet. I want you to take your jacket back."

I do as she asks. It turns out that both her boots and socks have dried and are warm enough for her to use for her feet. I'm thankful for that too, because the damp from the storm outside has given us both a chill. We shiver as she puts her socks on and as I slip my jacket back over my shirt.

"I'll take the first watch," she offers, tucking her feet under her.

"Are you sure? How does your head feel?" I ask, not wanting her to push herself.

"It's fine. Besides, you're the one who's hardly slept."

I sigh. "Fine. But only if you stay in this sleeping bag with me. It's getting too cold to sit up uncovered."

She doesn't object and willingly slides in next to me. We huddle close together and I stretch my arm out, urging her to place her head against it. After a moment's hesitation, she does and her forehead brushes my chest. It's the closest I've been to her yet, and I'm secretly pleased to have her resting against me. My arm carefully wraps around her waist, which pulls her closer. While I do like the fact that she's so near, it's also helpful to have additional body heat.

There's a moment of adjusting between us so Katniss can sit up to grab a pair of glasses that are used for seeing in the dark, but afterwards, we snuggle close again. She looks up at me, watching me quietly. I would kill to know what's going through her mind, but all I do is give her a smile before I close my eyes to sleep.

What is probably a few hours later, Katniss rouses me out of my slumber so she can have her turn. I'm a little tired, but I don't mind. She hands me the glasses so I can have a better time at keeping watch, and she nestles her head against my chest, her hand lightly holding my shirt.

"Tomorrow when it's dry, I'll find us a place so high in the trees we can both sleep in peace," she murmurs before falling asleep.

I smile. Katniss, ever the hunter and protector, is thinking of ways to keep us safe. I have no doubt she would do just that too, even if I can't climb as well as she can. I smooth the hair away from her face and kiss her temple before staring out into the rain as it continues to pour.


End file.
